


Some Assembly Required

by fabricdragon



Series: Odyssey [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Asexual Sherlock, BAMF Anthea (Sherlock), Bad BDSM Etiquette, Blackmail, Canon-Typical Violence, Captivity, Conditioning, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Flogging, Jim Moriarty is more than a bit not good, M/M, Manipulative Relationship, Mind Palace, Multi, Mycroft IS the British Government, Mycroft is a Bit Not Good, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Past Abuse, Past Drug Use, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Torture, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Torture, Sadism, Sherlock is Not a Virgin, Sherlock's Violin, Stockholm Syndrome, Tags Contain Spoilers, Tags May Change, Tattoos, Threats, Work Contains Fan(s) or Fandom(s), but is very good at it, relationship tags may reflct sex and /or romannce
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-06-27
Packaged: 2018-10-29 16:20:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 21,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10857642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fabricdragon/pseuds/fabricdragon
Summary: Picks up directly after "Tearing You Apart".If Tearing You Apart was about Jim breaking people down... this is what happens next.TW almost all of them, either in the characters past, or current, although MOSTLY "off camera"





	1. Chapter 1

John Watson and Anthea were left alone for a while in their comfortable prison. Someone brought food. A nurse checked on them both. Eventually, most of the drugs left Anthea’s system, or at least she stopped blurting out things she was thinking. She dozed somewhat, probably aftereffects of the drugs.

John helped her manage the indignities of bedpans and things without Jim’s people being in the room. She was inordinately grateful for that and for John’s military professionalism about it. At her insistence he searched the room, and didn’t find anything useful except spare blankets and pillows.

John was asleep on the cot when the door opened to something other than a nurse or food.

*

Sherlock listened in annoyance as yet one more person complained about his interest in sex, or lack of it. Certainly Sebastian was the last person he would ever be interested in–at least Jim seemed to understand it a bit better. He was still lost in his own calculations of what Jim might want from him when Jim addressed Mycroft.

“Well first, Mycroft, my little fallen angel, you can come over here and kneel next to my chair, like a good pet.”

Sherlock’s eyes widened in disbelief as Mycroft stiffly walked over and knelt at Jim’s side. He was doing it to rescue Anthea, to rescue John Watson–and thus Sherlock, he had to admit–but it was still utterly wrong to see Mycroft kneeling.

Mycroft kept his head down, and Jim idly petted at his hair as he turned his attention to Sherlock. Sherlock gave Mycroft what privacy he could by pretending to not see the way his cheeks flushed, or the minute shaking of his muscles, or the way his hands clenched tightly enough to turn his knuckles white. He would delete it later.

~

It was all Jim could do not to shout when Mycroft, in his usual impeccable suit, came over and stiffly knelt next to him. _What do I want, Mycroft? This is a good start…_ He couldn’t make any pretense of being cowed or docile–not really. He simply stiffly endured it as Jim petted him and spoke to Sherlock about the price SHERLOCK was paying–Mycroft would know this was merely a down payment.

“So I have some things I want out of you, Sherlock, obviously,” Jim said casually. “Not even that onerous, after all.”

“And that is?” Sherlock was keeping his eyes on Jim, and off Mycroft– _consideration, I suppose._

“Well, first, you’re going to come and play for me: I miss your violin.” Sherlock blinked at him and tilted his head. Mycroft had gone still under his fingers, trying to follow this.

“I would think you would hear me well enough: I’m sure I haven’t found ALL the bugs in my flat.”

“No, you haven’t, but in any event the sound quality is horrible.” He shrugged. “Also, I like watching you play, and I get more of it in person. I’ll call you, you’ll come play. I’ll even try not to call you in the middle of things.” Jim was all too aware of the volatility of this. _Sherlock was only partly tame, after all, Sebastian’s tail was practically lashing, and Mycroft…_

“Kind of you,” Sherlock said sarcastically.

“Yes, it is. Secondly, you’re going to accompany me as my escort to a few events.”

Mycroft tensed; Sherlock simply made a face. “Really? I would think you could find someone more enthusiastic for your bed.”

Jim laughed, “Oh GOD no, Sherlock, not that kind of escort: the kind that shows up in a tuxedo and looks charmingly pretty on my arm, and then tells me what you noticed while everyone ignored you as arm candy.”

Sherlock looked more interested; Mycroft relaxed a bit; Sebastian’s tension level eased ever so slightly.

“I suppose I can do that, but I’ve never been good at charming.” Mycroft couldn’t hold back the snort at that, but Jim couldn’t either, so it was fair.

“Well, try to aim for silent–or, at least, not annoying people. Can you do that?”

“Not to hear my brother tell it.”

Jim could feel Mycroft’s silent concurrence that this was unlikely through his fingertips, and smirked. “Obviously, we’ll have to have a practice run.”

“I hate events like that. Mycroft is much better at it,” Sherlock pointed out reasonably.

“Yes, but you’re prettier, so people will overlook you,” Jim pointed out. “If I have someone who isn’t pretty on my arm, people wonder what they’re there for. If I have someone who is very pretty, especially if they resemble my dear opponent Sherlock… well, people assume.”

“Won’t they recognize me?”

“Darling, even minor changes to your appearance will make you just look like I found someone who resembles Sherlock Holmes. After all, who expects the real thing on my arm?”

Sherlock nodded slowly. “Very well. I don’t think I’m the best person for this, but I’ll try.”

“There you are, see? Now run along upstairs and go see John and Anthea. You can stay in that room–or the one next to it–until I’m done chatting with Mycroft, or you can take John and go home.”

“And Anthea?” asked Sherlock, although Jim knew he was certain of the answer.

“Goes home when Mycroft does,” Jim smiled. “Go on, shoo. One of my people will show you the way.”

*

Sherlock came in, taking in Anthea’s condition and John’s usual muzziness on first awakening.

“John?” he called in quietly, as the door closed behind him.

“Sherlock!?” John was over to him in just a few strides, as Sherlock turned on one of the room lights.

_John was alright. He really was alright. Oh, thank God…_

~

They were hugging each other, when Anthea asked worriedly, “Mycroft?”

“Jim… Jim is still talking to him; he was done with me,” Sherlock said in a very subdued voice.

She jerked her hand against the restraints. “Is he hurt?”

Sherlock came over and rather casually unlocked her. “Don’t you carry handcuff keys?”

“We were stripped by the officials,” Anthea snarled trying to get up.

John hissed at her to hold still until he could get her IV.

She tried to get to the door and staggered. John grabbed her by one arm, Sherlock the other and dragged her back to a chair.

John looked at her, “and you’re going to do what? Fall on him?”

“Is. He. Hurt?” She glared at Sherlock.

“I suspect his pride is mortally wounded–I know mine was; otherwise, he was fine when I was allowed to leave.”

John looked up. “Are we being let go? Is there a trade? What’s going on?”

“We came to pick you two up. We’ll be allowed to leave, eventually. I suppose I could take you home now, he’s done with me, but…” Sherlock sighed, “I’d rather wait for Mycroft. We’ll all leave together.”

*

“You can get up, Mycroft,” Jim drawled slowly after Sherlock was on the other side of enough soundproofing.

He got up as quickly as he could without overtly scrambling to his feet.

“You have no bend in you at all, do you?” Jim asked, amused.

“No.” His voice was hoarse from tension.

“I admit, I’d half expected you to try to throttle me again by now,” Jim said, as if Sebastian wasn’t a looming presence beside him.

“Then why do it?”

“Testing your control, Mikey,” Jim said pleasantly. “It’s still terrible, but it’s improving.”

_Of course it was a test._

Jim got up with a sort of languid grace and leaned up against him. Mycroft fought to keep his hands at his sides. “Mycroft? Guess what? In today’s lesson you get to use your hands–mostly, because you’d never be able to do anything to me fast enough to keep something from happening to them, and they’ll just be on the other side of the house.”

Mycroft almost gasped at the change in topic, and then shook with a different kind of tension as he remembered… _Nerves singing in pleasant overload, Jim laughing down at him, struggling for air, not caring, his mind spinning down to one white hot point and then silence…_

“Sebastian, darling? You know the drill.”

“Yes, Sir: if he leaves the room without you, everyone dies.” Sebastian nodded.

“Come along, Mycroft. You can tell me what those silly honeytrap instructors have been trying to tell you, and I’ll tell you how wrong they are.”

Mycroft followed him in a bit of a daze. After a short while he started to hesitate. They were heading down below the ground floor…

“Why are we heading to a basement?”

Jim laughed, “Because I hate sleeping in a bedroom with line of sight for snipers.”

Mycroft blinked. “Oh, that’s sensible.”

“I have to sometimes, of course, but I don’t LIKE it.” He walked through a security lock that rivaled any at Mycroft’s office, lacking only a palm print or retinal scanner. Jim glanced at him. “No, I will never encode my biometrics into a device someone could recover, why?”

Mycroft nodded faintly as they walked into a master suite, “No, that wouldn’t suit you. We DO have it, you know, from when you were–“

“No. No, you don’t,” Jim smiled. “It’s been edited, changed, or lost. The fingerprints substituted–everything.”

Mycroft stared at him. “Oh… You would, wouldn’t you?”

“Of course.” He laughed. “You can have your prints on file, as you work on the side of the angels, but those of us in the other camp dislike having identification.”

“Speaking of which… why did you tell me you kidnapped one of the three?”

“It was a test, of course: to see if you would say anything.” Jim shrugged, “He’s out of the country now, in any case.”

Mycroft considered Jeffries and his observation skills. “He’ll find a way to escape.”

Jim smiled slowly. Mycroft felt the danger level in the room rise like a pressure wave. “No, Mycroft,” he said softly. “He might kill himself, but he will NEVER try to escape in any other way. My Sebastian is a masterpiece of mine, and he does magnificent work.”

Mycroft was trying to figure out what that meant when Jim was suddenly just wicked and sensual and only marginally threatening again.

“Get undressed, Mycroft. You’re in for a hell of a ride.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I should trigger warning this for dubious consent and manipulation, but it might be redundant, it is Jim after all.

Not very long after Sherlock had come in to the room with John and Anthea, Sebastian slipped in–his eyes swept the room as if he was looking for trouble; John presumed it was habit.

“Since I assume you’re staying, you can stay in here or use the room next door,” Sebastian nodded at Sherlock. Sherlock nodded warily back.

“Where’s Mycroft?” Anthea tried to glare at him and gave up.

“With Jim. He’s alright, Anthea.” He smiled a bit drily. “This time he gets a bit more freedom of motion since the hostages are right here.”

“Do I even want to know?” John asked tiredly.

“Apparently, the first time Jim took him to bed he got restrained for safety, which is sensible–I wasn’t THERE, after all.”

Anthea blinked a lot. “Oh, well, yes, that makes sense.”

“It does?” John stared at her– Sherlock merely raised an eyebrow.

“Yes,” she nodded. “Since the hostages are all right here and Mycroft knows it, there’s less risk of him trying anything.” She looked at Sebastian, “So is it voluntary?”

“With JIM?” Sebastian snorted. “Who can tell? I’ve seen people beg to get in his bed and try to run, and I’ve seen people try to run and end up begging.”

Sherlock asked thoughtfully, “Why are you here?”

“First, because I wanted to make sure you knew that I’m under orders–as are the other guards–to be rather strict with you until Jim is not alone in a room with Mycroft. I wouldn’t want any of you getting shot accidentally.” Sherlock nodded. “Secondly, I wanted to talk to John.”

“Uh... Do I need to go with–“

“No, already said most of it in front of Sherlock.” He shrugged. “Seriously, it’s always the way isn’t it?” His eyes raked up and down Sherlock. “If there is a God. he has a vicious sense of humor.”

Sherlock snorted at him and turned away.

He looked back at John. “There are a number of people who are surprisingly good in bed–and keep their mouths shut. Yes, the ones I know mostly work for Jim, but some of them don’t even know that, being two or three steps removed. If you two can’t get him to stop sounding like sex is a chore, and you can’t take me up on the offer, at least let me–or Anthea, I bet–find you someone who won’t stab you in the back, alright?”

John closed his eyes, feeling whatever dignity he had evaporating. “I assume this is meant to be helpful and friendly, and therefore I thank you. In actual fact, I feel like the floor should open up and drop me into a shark pit.”

Sebastian shrugged. “You get over modesty with Jim pretty fast–not that I had much to begin with.” He looked at Anthea. “Can I get you anything?”

“A gun?” she said pleasantly.

“Sure, once you leave.” He grinned, “Anything else?”

“Bennison’s head on a platter?”

“I think your boss is getting you that for your anniversary.”

She grinned, “Alright, maybe. Seriously, though: chocolate?”

He brightened up. “Always plenty of that around: Jim has a sweet tooth.” He nodded and slipped out.

Sherlock just stood over at a window looking out. John sighed. A _ll brooding, with those cheekbones and his collar turned up… Damn._

A little while later, one of the other servants brought up an assortment of candy bars, three bowls of chocolate and vanilla pudding, and cold glasses of milk.

John just shook his head, “Well, it beats a bomb vest.”

*

“So what are the idiots trying to teach you?” Jim said pleasantly as he put the last of his clothes away.

Mycroft, as always, felt considerably more ill at ease without his clothing. _I have no idea why it doesn’t seem to bother Sherlock._ “Mostly about watching people’s reactions–which I can do better than they can, in any event–and spending hours on what boils down to ‘the chemicals involved are addictive to some people’,” he said grumpily.

Jim laughed. Mycroft noticed that the sketches on his back had filled in: there were botanical drawings clearly in evidence now on his leg and back, and some green to the leaves and stems; when he turned, there was more of it on his upper arm and chest.

“Go ahead and ask.”

“You aren’t getting it all covered, obviously. What’s the criteria?”

“Scars that look the least intimidating and the most obviously like someone held me down.” Jim answered calmly, pushing Mycroft down to sit on the bed. “And aesthetics. “ Jim crawled on top of him and straddled his thighs. Mycroft dug his hands into the bed.

“I left your hands free for a reason,” Jim smirked. “Go ahead and touch.”

“And if I hurt you?”

“I’m pretty sure I can tell the difference between accident and design, Mycroft,” Jim laughed down at him.

Mycroft let his hands wander, touching the tattoos, the scars. Jim arched into some touches, away from others.

“I know you well enough to know that’s faked,” Mycroft said drily.

“You don’t know me at all, Mycroft: that’s your mistake.” Jim reached around and pulled him into a kiss. Mycroft found his hands sliding around Jim’s back and head, trying to pull him in closer. He hesitated, but Jim didn’t seem to mind, so he did.

Mycroft tried to return the kiss. He remembered Jim had spent time on his neck... he tried: Jim reacted. He was obviously telegraphing his reactions _, giving me bold signs of “more like this” and “less like that” but it was easy to forget, to believe that he was making him react._ Mycroft found he wanted to hear Jim’s voice when he was happy, not just in pain. _I still want to hear him in pain…_

Eventually, Jim had him move up against the headboard, then he lowered his head–and Mycroft’s world collapsed to Jim’s mouth, and the sensations in his groin. His hands tangled in Jim’s hair, and grabbed at his neck and shoulders.

Jim stopped, and Mycroft slowly came back to himself and looked down. “Whr?”

Jim smirked with his mouth still full of Mycroft, and went back to work. Eventually, Mycroft was watching–or, at least, his eyes were open and they were aimed that way–as Jim swallowed him down and ran his tongue over him. Jim slipped a finger inside him, and stroked his other over the base of his shaft as he worked with his tongue and his lips. It took longer this time before he came, and his mind whited out completely.

He vaguely recalled Jim moving up to his chest, realized he’d wrapped an arm around the smaller man, pulling him closer.

“Are you back now?” Jim asked, his voice gentle, but not at all uncontrolled.

“More or less.” Mycroft felt rather oddly relaxed; he said so.

“Post-coital haze. That’s the chemicals in effect. The skin to skin contact is also releasing additional oxytocin, which was part of the chemical cocktail created during sex,” Jim said, burrowing further in against his chest. Jim licked over his collarbone, and started kissing and sucking at it.

“I don’t know that much about it,” Mycroft admitted.

“Dopamine, serotonin, oxytocin, endorphin.” Jim smiled and moved to lie more on top of Mycroft. “Sex produces most of them; skin contact a few; exercise some. I’ll get you to more endorphins and adrenalin when we get past the basics. Pain and pleasure can be so very closely linked.”

“I still want to hurt you.”

“Of course you do, darling, but you’re terrible at it.”

Mycroft’s pride being wounded–even though it was obvious that he wasn’t nearly as good as he thought–caused him to snap out once again, “You still screamed prettily enough.”

Jim looked down at him thoughtfully; sat up so that Mycroft was looking up at him; and Jim was sitting on Mycroft in a way that made him want to thrust and move, but pinned him to the bed instead.

Jim threw his head back and screamed. It was an agonized, drawn out, wail of terror, and loss, and pain. Mycroft had never heard him scream like that. It trailed off into broken gasping sobs. Mycroft was frozen. Jim looked down, twin gleams of tears in the corner of his eyes.

“Like that?” he said, his voice soft and slightly rough. “You never hurt me that badly, Mycroft. You don’t know me well enough.”

Mycroft tried to say something but nothing came out. That sound had everything he ever wanted in it; he wanted to own it; he wanted…

Jim bent down and kissed him again, his hand going between them to stroke Mycroft to hardness.

“I’m going to make you beg, Mycroft,” Jim said softly into his ear, as Mycroft felt a wave of pleasure building up again, “and I’m going to make you scream…”

Jim rolled him over and bit him gently, and started pushing slick fingers into him.

“You weren’t worth destroying, darling–you and Sherlock are far too fragile, really–but I can use those pieces to create something, I think. I prefer the arts of destruction, but everything has another side.”

Mycroft was trying desperately to listen, to understand, but the fingers inside of him were stealing his mind away, while the hand stroking him was just so slow, and too gentle.

“You’re going to be a masterpiece when I’m done with you, Mycroft. Sebastian was good–you’ll be better.”

Jim pushed into him. This time he could use his hands and his feet to shift his angle, and to brace. Jim murmuring instructions, and then Jim was thrusting into him, hitting that spot inside him that made him desperate and incoherent.

He realized with horror that he was begging, and forced himself to be quiet.

“No one can hear you in here, Mycroft. Your pride doesn’t matter to me, I own you–I own all of you: the gleaming sadist and the tarnished masochist.” Jim chuckled. “I’m the only one you could possibly consider being worthy of hurting you darling, and I will.”

Mycroft froze. _That wasn’t true. It wasn’t. Was it?_ Then Jim thrust into him, and twisted his hand roughly, while his other hand dug hard into Mycroft’s hip, and Mycroft screamed and came, and collapsed into the bed.

Jim lazily continued thrusting into him, and it was so, so much more sensitive, and Mycroft wanted to beg him to stop, and beg him to keep going, and a sort of strangled wail came out of him.

“You’ll be my masterpiece, darling Mycroft, and no one will understand. No one knows you like I do. You’re just a lost, lonely, hurting boy, lashing out at the cruel unworthy world. I’ll always be there for you. I’ll hurt you, and give you pleasure, and be your refuge when the silly, stupid, ordinary people get to be too much.”

Mycroft wanted him to stop talking. _Please, please stop talking, I can’t stand it_. He was in ecstasy and yet tears were running down his face.

“We’re going to be brilliant together, Mycroft: you’ll see.” Jim was silent for a moment and then Mycroft felt him arch into him, and felt a spasm inside of him. He realized that was the first time Jim had… _He’d been focusing on me_.

Jim lay quietly on top of him, slowly softening, but not moving to pull away.

“You already love me–just a little–and you hate me, of course.” Jim kissed him gently on the shoulder, about where Mycroft had carved a triskele on Jim. “When I’m done with you, you won’t be able to tell the difference.”

“I think there’s a huge difference between love and hate,” Mycroft managed to say.

“Oh, no, there isn’t. The opposite of love is indifference darling, and there’s no way you will ever be indifferent to me.” Jim pulled Mycroft’s head up by his hair, none too gently, and kissed him again; Mycroft felt himself respond and rolled over to pull him closer without thinking.

When Jim stopped kissing him, he put his hands on both sides of Mycroft’s face. “Look at me.”

Mycroft opened his eyes and looked. Jim looked so damned young, without his suits, without a sneer on his face.

“I love you, Mycroft,” Mycroft startled and stiffened, “and I always hurt the people I love: it’s just my nature. But, after I finish taking you apart and putting you back together, the scars will be so very beautiful.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> explanations, and back to the office... and Bennison...  
> (apologies for the lack of proofing, i will try t get it corrected later)

It was early morning when Mycroft came up to the room.  He was perfectly dressed, but very quiet, and there was a sort of lost look about him that made Sherlock hesitate.

“Are you… will you be well, Mycroft?” Sherlock asked him. 

John was familiar enough with Sherlock to hear the hesitancy, Anthea familiar enough with Mycroft to realize that something was very different.

“I highly doubt it.” Mycroft answered calmly. “We need to leave now.”

There was no sign of Jim. Sebastian drove the four of them– John and Anthea and Sherlock and Mycroft– to a building not far from the car park where Mycroft left his car. Mycroft didn’t say anything, not a word, although he patted Anthea’s hand when she tried to ask him if he was alright.

When they arrived at the building–not where they had parked– Sebastian unlocked the doors, and helped them out. “This is where you get out. It’s a short walk, mostly covered, to the car.” Sebastian said gruffly. “I have to get back.”

“I still don’t belong–“ Anthea was saying calmly when Sebastian clapped a hand flat over her mouth.

The others were shocked enough that he’d started talking before they could react.

“SHUT UP!” he took his hand away and looked at her with a surprisingly serious expression. “Listen to me very carefully, Tiger, once Jim decides you’re his? That’s IT–you’re his.  Your life is over.  I forgot that and it’s only that I have years of good will built up that means I’m not dead or worse.”

He shook his head. “I was stupid.  I don’t want to see you learn the hard way.  You’re his. That’s it. He said you all are? That’s it. He treats his people well as long as you behave; if you’re very lucky, you drop off his interests and he only takes you out and plays with you a bit before he puts you back down and moves on to the next new shiny thing.

“Eventually? He may even forget you.”  He looked pained at her. “I doubt it though,” he said softly, “ Not with you being a leash on his newest shiniest toy.” He glared at Mycroft. “I think you have a few clues by now, maybe you can explain it to them.”

“Only a few, I’m afraid Jim’s motivations are–“

Sherlock shrugged, “he doesn’t want to be bored, and he wants to win.  It’s fairly obvious.”

Sebastian shook his head, “Maybe. I don’t know or care.  The point is? He thinks you belong to him?  Then at least no one ELSE is allowed to scuff his toys.” He looked back at Anthea. “I suppose it’s better he found out fast, before I convinced myself of any more stupidity.  I hope he lets me see you again, someday.” He leaned forward and kissed her, careful of her neck.

“Lets you?”

“If Jim told me to, I’d gut you and leave you to die.” He looked at her sadly, “But I’d hate it.”  He got back in the van and drove away while she was still staring after him.

Mycroft put his arm out to Anthea and they started to walk to the car.  Mycroft didn’t say anything until they were about halfway there, then he stopped and pulled everyone slightly to the side.

“This is one of the most CCTV observed locations until we get to the car. If we walk about twenty feet out of the way we will be in a direct line of sight of four of them.”

“Do we want to?” Sherlock asked.

“Yes.” Mycroft nodded.

They walked over and Mycroft muttered, “Head down, or cover your mouth.”

Sherlock looked enlightened, as did Anthea. John just sighed and did it.

“Okay,” he said looking down and putting a hand near his mouth. “Why?”

“Because this is the least likely place for Jim to have been able to plant a bug.” Mycroft answered.

Anthea nodded. “Are you alright?”

“No.” he said flatly. “However, Anthea? Jim said that the person he kidnapped is out of the country, and that he used Sebastian to break him.  He seemed convinced that he might kill himself but he would never try to run… If you get any further contact with Sebastian try to find out more, we may be able to rescue him.”

“What are you talking about?” john asked, “Who did he kidnap now?”

“Three of our people…” Mycroft ran a hand through his hair in frustration, “Three of my fellow ‘minor functionaries’ were killed.  People at or near my level of authority.”

“Oh, Christ!” John breathed,

Sherlock stared at him. “They’ve kept that quiet.”

“Well of course.” Mycroft nodded at Sherlock, “we always do.  However one of the dead… well Jim said he wasn’t dead, that the death was faked and he was kidnapped.  I asked why he told me, he said it was a test of what I would tell them.” Mycroft frowned, “or possibly what I managed to recall.”

“Your memory is perfect.” Sherlock said with a frown of his own that mirrored Mycroft’s.

“Jim is… capable of scrambling my wits a bit.” Mycroft said tensely.  Sherlock’s eyes widened.

Anthea stared at him. “That good? Or you just don’t have a comparison?”

“I suspect, based on his appalling levels of confidence that he is that good, but I confess I wouldn’t know.”   Mycroft was tense and uncomfortable. “In any event,” he said firmly changing the subject, “Jim said that you had a history with Mr. Bennison that I was not aware of?”

Anthea winced, “Right, whatever they gave me that made me that chatty.” She sighed. “Bennison wanted me as his Personal Assistant. It was very obvious that he expected that to come with other benefits, and in any case I thought he was slimy.”

“Did he ever do anything actionable?”

“He kept it within professionally acceptable limits, Sir, except that any woman who isn’t fresh to the job market would know better.”

“So there is reason to think that you, at least, might have been a personal target?”

“Oh, I expect so.”

“Then I will ensure that is asked in interrogation.”

“You know he won’t be interrogated, Mycroft.” She said sighing. “We’ve lost so many people that they can’t spare him.”

“I assure you, Anthea, he will NEVER return to work.” Mycroft suddenly looked very dangerous.  John heard the change in his voice and edged back just a bit, Sherlock looked cautious. “If he does? Then I suggest you don’t stand in the line of fire.”

“You sound rather more like your old self, brother mine.” Sherlock said sounding rather concerned, “Dare I ask?”

“It’s not your concern, Sherlock. Now is there anything else we need to discuss or shall we get back to the car?”

 There were a group of men waiting by the car. Mycroft recognized most of them.  John just sighed and Anthea glared at them.

Sherlock muttered, “No hope of getting back to the flat today is there?”

“No.” Mycroft sighed.

Anthea walked up and kicked one of the men hard, what surprised Sherlock was him muttering, “Sorry,” at her.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything about it. “Gentlemen, I assume you are here to escort us back to the office?”

“Yes, Mr. Holmes.”

“I trust that you understand that after the most recent incidents I want verification of who you report to?”

One of the men nodded and called in. “Sir? Mr. Holmes is back, and wishes to speak with you.” He handed the phone over.

“Mycroft.”

“You do realize I told you not to take those kinds of risks?” his superior said firmly.

“Indeed, and I am afraid you were correct about the unlimited nature of leverage, however I have some more information, at least.  Of course you know they’ve been retrieved.”

“Get back here, more has happened.”

Mycroft raised an eyebrow at the brusque tone.  They got into the car.

Bennison was in the office as well when they arrived:  Mycroft’s hands twitched.

“Bennison.” Mycroft said calmly, identifying him for Sherlock and John.

“The guy who wanted to kidnap Anthea because she wouldn’t date him?” John asked immediately.

His superior slid his eyes over and glanced at Mycroft, who nodded.  Bennison just stated, “Certainly not. I had reason to believe you were meeting with an agent of Moriarty’s and you were.” He smiled darkly at John, “YOU weren’t on assignment.”

Sherlock looked over at him with complete disdain, “Actually he was, from me.”  Which wasn’t entirely true, but Sherlock was completely believable. “Sebastian Moran is one of Moriarty’s more trusted agents, and he seemed inclined to talk to a fellow Army man.” He flicked a completely dismissive glance at Bennison.

The man behind the desk–Mycroft’s superior– simply rubbed his nose tiredly. “In any event, Mr. Bennison is on probation but we need him at the moment.”

“Of course, Sir.” Mycroft said blandly. “I assume you want a debriefing?”

Anthea spoke up. “I’m injured and I would like to get X-rays and a real checkup. No offense to Doctor Watson, but he didn’t have his equipment and he wasn’t the one in charge of the medical.  I was questioned, but John was in the room.” she nodded as much as she could in the brace. “I was given something that made me lose a lot of inhibitions, but nothing too severe, mostly personal opinions.” She smiled politely at Bennison.

Wrapping that up took the rest of the day.

Mycroft was informed, late in the afternoon after he had been debriefed–and he told them nothing about what happened between Jim and himself besides talking– that one of their number had gone missing, presumably during the confusion over the “arrests” and accidents.

“I didn’t hear anything about that.” Mycroft frowned. “So either he didn’t choose to brag about this one, or it’s unrelated. There certainly are other people who would take an opportunity like that.”

Jack nodded, “well, keep your ears open.  The real problem is who it is: Lloyd Serdon, our computer expert.”

Mycroft’s eyes widened. “I presume the passwords have been changed?”

“Yes, as if we didn’t have enough things to keep us busy.” He sighed, “go back to work, Mycroft. We can try to get rid of Bennison later, but for right now we need him.”

*

A minor government functionary- who was named Lloyd Serdon, and in reality ran the computers for most of the secure government– woke up chained to a bed in Jim Moriarty’s possession.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lloyd's story picks up in "A Byte of Trouble", which was the previous short story in the series. it is not required reading, although it may explain a bit about the NEXT time you see Lloyd.  
> Sebastian is referring to his own history (Taming of the Tiger), and his understanding of what it means when Jim says someone is "his".


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock get home, and have some serious relationship discussions.
> 
> TW for past abuse and Non con (discussed), and sexuality discussions (see notes)

Sherlock and John eventually got back to the flat.  They were both exhausted and neither had the energy to even make tea, luckily Mrs. Hudson brought them up some and some snacks.

“I’m only doing this the once, now, I’m still your landlady not your cook!” she said

“Bless you!” John said very sincerely.

 

After she left, Sherlock sighed. “Jim wants me to come play music for him.”

“What?” John blinked. “Is that a code for something?”

“No, he likes my violin playing.”

“Uh... well that’s… good?  I mean I like your playing.” He added, “Except when you’re upset and you make that horrid squealing nose that sounds like a dying fan belt on a supply truck.”

Sherlock snorted. “He also wants me to go to some parties with him.”

“Why? He has a thing for punishment? You’re horrid at parties!”

“He thinks people will think I’m arm candy that he got that ‘looks a bit like Sherlock’ and ignore me while I deduce them.”

John looked thoughtful. “They might just at that.”

“Is… Is it really bothering you that I don’t have any interest in sex?” he asked suddenly

 _These sudden conversation shifts are going to kill me._ John sighed, “It bothers me worse that you talk about it like you do and expect I still HAVE any afterwards!”

“Can you explain? I don’t think I understand.”

John almost went into shock, hearing Sherlock admit that. “Uh, sure? I can try anyway.”

Sherlock focused his attention and steepled his fingers under his jaw.

“Alright, so if I am being interested, and you talk about it like it disgusts you, how do you think that makes me feel?”

“I have no idea or I wouldn’t ask! It obviously makes you uncomfortable, but I assume you would prefer the truth.”

John sighed, “YES I prefer the truth, but offering me sex on one hand, while making it clear it would be completely against your interests… it makes me feel guilty, and faintly sick. As if I’m forcing it on you, but you’re gritting your teeth and putting up with it.”

Sherlock opened his mouth and john held up a hand. “I would RATHER you either say no, or find a way to say “Let’s find out some way to let you have what you need, without forcing me to do anything I find disgusting.

“Because honestly? I have no interest in having sex with you if you think it’s that awful. Sooner or later you’d start thinking I was awful, and I can’t cope.”

“It’s not that it’s… awful exactly…” Sherlock started.

John put his head in his hands. “Look, Sherlock, I admit, I don’t understand how you think anyway, but I definitely don’t understand this… and you haven’t exactly been helping me understand.  I think we need to sit down and talk about what EXACTLY you find interesting, just ok, boring, or disgusting… and I think maybe you need to listen to me, preferably without whining about chemicals.”

“It IS just chemicals, John.”

“PEOPLE are just chemicals, Sherlock, but I’ll quote Pratchet ‘show me one molecular of belief, or mercy.’–“

“Dopamine mostly, and Oxycotin.”

 _Don’t strangle him… don’t strangle him…. “_ Yeah? Does that explain why Jim Moriarty didn’t break you to pieces after your brother tortured him? Or why he loves your music enough to want you to play? He could lock you in a cell just as well to have a leash on Mycroft.”

“Possibly.” Sherlock sounded grumpy, “he may have some childhood experience–“

“Well my experience says sex is fun–great fun– especially with people who are attractive and enthusiastic, but when there isn’t a relationship it’s really easy to have it fall flat.  Sex with someone you care about–love- is fantastic-“

“Dopamine and­–“

“Shut UP.” John glared at him. “I love you, you said you loved me, and I finally GOT it, you hide behind all that intellect and science and chemicals when you don’t know what to say or do. FINE.  But if we don’t sit down and actually TALK about this, it’s going to rip us apart.” He glared at Sherlock extra hard, for emphasis.

Very slowly Sherlock sagged and looked down.  He looked much younger, and he pulled his legs up onto the chair, and tucked his head down. “I never understood things, as a child. Why people laughed at some jokes, why people held their books in front of them, the comments about people’s looks…”

“Not at all?”

“As I said, I can admire the aesthetics…” he sighed. “Most people assumed I must be gay.  I tried to explain and they just took it as denial.”

“I can imagine.”

“Then I tried cocaine…”

“Not heroin?”

“That was later.  Anyway I got raped by my dealer.”

“What!?”

“I suppose it was rape, anyway.” Sherlock shrugged. “And all the idiot therapists I’ve ever seen go ‘well that’s why you have no interest!’ but I had no interest BEFORE that, and honestly that time wasn’t that terrible.”

“It wasn’t?!”

“No, it was mostly sort of disgustingly messy.” He shrugged. “I had sex after that a few times, to pay for drugs, including heroin. I was raped by a few of the drug dealers, and a few prison guards– some of those times were pretty horrible–and I went out and tried it as an experiment to see if it was different without the drugs– it was, in the sense that it was less disgusting and much less painful– but I feel no need to repeat the experiment.”

John just stared at him. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be.  What bothers me is everyone insisting that it damaged me, that I would be interested if that hadn’t happened.” He looked up calmly, “I wasn’t interested before. I simply don’t need sex and I don’t think about people if I do something to myself to relieve the tension or to get the mild hit of chemicals.” He shrugged, “do you? Really?”

“YES!” john ran a hand through his hair. “Yes, I do. I imagine hands on me, lips, a body against mine, or at least looking at one. I’ve jerked off to pornography before…”

“Yes, I found your pictures.”

“You were in my ROOM?!”

“I was bored.” Sherlock shrugged. “I don’t see anything at all interesting in those images, except as an intellectual game:’ why that prop, why that outfit.’.  Things like that.”

“I’ve seen you naked a few times.” John admitted.

“So?”

He sighed, “So, Sherlock, while I’m not normally that interested in guys: you’re gorgeous.  And in ME that’s more than just aesthetics. Whether it’s because I care about you or because of anything else, it makes me interested, physically.  So does kissing.”

“So… our kissing… makes you want to have sex?  With me?”

John stared at him. “Yes, obviously.”

“It’s not obvious to me! I like hugging and kissing you, when I’m in the mood for contact at all, but no, it doesn’t lead to me wanting anything else.”

“Moriarty said–“

“He was upset and trying to make us go away.” Sherlock sighed, “Especially you, since you had been threatening him and you were staring at the scars, and as I said, I’m certain I called out your name a few times– I had nightmares about your safety.”

“Oh.  Uh… do you….. Picture anyone? Anything? When you… um…”

“Masturbate?” Sherlock made a face. “I avoid it whenever possible, but if I must, no I don’t picture anything.  Music sometimes, I suppose.”

“Seriously?” John asked him, “You don’t…find ANYONE sexually interesting?”

“No.”

“Have you seen–“

“A doctor?” Sherlock looked annoyed. “Yes, as I said, everyone assumes it must be because I had an unpleasant first experience, but I was disinterested before that.”

“I meant a medical doctor, to check your physical status, endocrine systems, that sort of thing…”

“They’re fine.” Sherlock said, sounding resigned, “I TOLD you. I simply have no interest in it, but it’s not horrible or anything, just messy.  I do enjoy the occasional orgasm, but as I said I don’t need it very often.  If it makes you happier to –“

“Stop.” John muttered, holding up a hand. “More tea, lots more tea.”  He stalked off to the kitchen.

Sherlock just sighed and rolled his head back.

John came back with tea, biscuits, and a bottle of alcohol.

“First, I assume between the drugs and the sex that you have had blood tests?”

“Yes, and yes I had caught some things, but luckily it was all treatable. That was quite some time ago.”

“What about Irene?  I got the impression you were interested…”

“I was. She’s… different.” Sherlock looked at him thoughtfully, “But I didn’t particularly want to have sex with her, I just wanted to… be around her? She affected me like a mild drug hit.” Sherlock sighed, “So does Jim.”

John’s posture and attitude were not what Sherlock had been expecting, he looked intent.  _I’d expected him to be angry…_

“But not sexual? You don’t have any interest per se in having sex with them?”

“No.”

“Kissing them?”

“Don’t be absurd.”

“So it’s just the thrill like a really good case.”

Sherlock blinked at him, and thought… “Yes… yes something like that.”

“And you found Irene aesthetically pleasing, you said, like a violin?”

“She was very attractive, yes.  Muscular but with a near optimum amount of–“

“Yes, fine, but you have kissed me…”

“I’ve kissed a number of people.  I… I enjoy kissing you.”

“But you don’t want to have sex.”

“No.”

“Not: “you have panic attacks’ or ‘you have flashbacks’, you just don’t care?”

“Precisely!” Sherlock said sounding more cheerful. “I’ve had panic attacks over other things, I even had a truly awful  issue that I suppose must be somewhat like PTSD, but it hasn’t ever occurred with regard to kissing you,” Sherlock looked thoughtful. “I don’t know if I would have some kind of reaction if we had sex, since we haven’t done.”

John rubbed his forehead and poured a shot of liquor into his tea. “Okay… for me kissing is nice, but it does tend to lead to me wanting sex.  I don’t normally fancy men, but… you’re… I want to have a relationship with you that I NORMALLY think of involving sex.” He sighed. “And every time you go on about ‘I suppose I can if you must’ it feels like I’m a rapist, and I’m NOT one–“

“Of course you aren’t!”

“But that’s how it feels. Like I would be forcing myself on you.”

“Can’t you just…do what you’ve been doing? You seem to need a great deal more of an outlet that I ever do, but–“

“Sherlock, Maybe I can have a relationship without sex, or maybe we need to find some other solution, but its OBVIOUS that you have no bloody clue what it’s like to WANT it… and I obviously don’t have any idea what it’s like NOT to.”  John sighed. “Luckily there’s probably an internet group for this, there has to be. “

“Why do you presume that?  I’ve never met anyone else like me except Mycroft, and it turns out he is interested–at least with Jim.”

“Because Anthea knew the term asexual, she used it when we were meeting at the bar, and when Sebastian delivered you he apparently was howling about you being asexual you said…”

“No, he was howling about it being unfair. JIM said I was completely asexual and not demisexual…” Sherlock blinked several times. “Which means he was familiar with it and I completely overlooked that given what else was going on.”

“Right. So there are terms for this, and a term for something he says that you aren’t but it sounds close, so I say we start pretending this is a case or a puzzle and look it up.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very Important Note: Asexuality is an umbrella term (which covers demisexuals and others too) and NO not all asexuals are the same. Sherlock is describing how HE views his sexuality (his attractions, interests, and so on) and frankly he isn't very self-aware in the first place..  
> John is NOT an asexual and was previously entirely unaware of the term and is doing his best to figure things out.
> 
> neither of them are speaking for "all" asexuals, or all anything, and neither of them are experts.
> 
> also, my proof reader has been ill, all spelling mistakes and punctuation issues will be fixed as i find them, my apologies.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bennison, plans, plots, Tigers, and Sherlock has a new research project.

Mycroft managed to hold himself in check, mostly, while dealing with Bennison.  When they had another meeting, and he saw Bennison glance at Althea, however, he began planning. Certainly no one else would have seen the small glances, the speculation, and the possessive greed on Bennison’s well controlled expressions, but Mycroft did– and no one but Anthea could have noticed that beneath his calm façade Mycroft was seething.

A week went by with increasing urgency as the security on the entire building, and everything Serdon’s computers controlled was changed, restricted, and turned over for clues. One of their fellow members was killed overseas while cleaning up a political mess–Mycroft didn’t think it was Jim’s action.  One of their number committed suicide by throwing himself into the Thames, in front of witnesses–Mycroft believed that was Jim, somehow, but no one else did.

They had yet another useless meeting, and Mycroft forced himself to be calm even as he planned various ways to remove Bennison. The first meeting after Mycroft’s admission of Jim’s captivity had been attended by eight people– with three more who had been unable to attend– at this point it was attended by all those still alive, and reporting in–that is to say five. To say the atmosphere among the surviving members of their group was tense was to understate it immensely.

“There is still no sign of Serdon, then?” Mycroft asked as soon as he saw Jack’s expression.

“I still think he was Moriarty’s agent.” Bennison snapped.

“Since you thought John Watson and Anthea were as well,” said the one woman in their number–she simply went by Bela recently–“Your judgement is suspect.”

Bennison glared at her.

Mycroft’s superior, Springfield, sighed. “We shall have to presume that Moriarty, or someone, currently HAS him, which is why we have been changing every password, access code, and so on. No one can hold out forever.  I do not believe that he went willingly, but the fact remains that he has been missing for more than a week.”

Mycroft nodded, “Any leads on the continued existence of Jeffries?”

“Sadly, no.”

Anthea cleared her throat. “If I may?”

Everyone turned in shock. Even Mycroft reacted with startlement, the few personal assistants who had been permitted to remain never, ever, spoke; at the most they handed someone a note, or showed them a text.

Bennison started to say something and the woman–Bela– cut him off. “This had better be good. Go on.”

“All of you constantly overlook your assistants, as if we were simply an extension of our blackberries or phones.” She said calmly. “Which means you also forget to interrogate us over anything other than “did you see anything” and you forget to LOOK for us – well except for Mr. Holmes– you are overlooking resources.”

Mycroft blinked at her. “What resources?”

“Serdon wasn’t permitted to go anywhere without his guards, owing to his issues in defense, and with interrogation resistance.”

“We are aware.” Springfield raised an eyebrow.

“I made inquiries.” She smiled politely. “Those guards mostly answered to Bennison.  Which makes me wonder why Mr. Bennison, who tried to kidnap me, might benefit from the disappearance of Mr. Serdon.” She nodded politely, “especially since he seems so INTENT on making it look like he ran off.”

Bennison immediately snapped, “Why does it benefit you to hide the fact that the man worked for Moriarty!”

Mycroft stared at him as his agitation put a crack in his defenses…. “You… you don’t want us asking them anything.” He frowned, “Why? What do they know?”

Tobias–one of the ones who had been busy during the initial meeting– looked at Springfield flatly. “Jack? I want this man held until we can ask those guards some questions.”

This time Bennison actually tried to put up a fight, which just aroused more suspicion.

Mycroft waited until he’d been dragged off before looking at his superior. “Jack… I CANNOT be the one to interrogate Bennison, not until you’ve decided he’s stripped of his position, but I can certainly help with the guards.”

“Leave it to the technicians.” He nodded, “Unless they don’t answer.” He nodded at Anthea. “Good call.”

“Thank you, sir.  Has anyone found any record of the bodies, or continued life, of the guards that were taken when John and I were abducted? Charles, at least was taken alive…”

Tobias shook his head. “No bodies, at least, but no.”

She nodded, slowly. Mycroft stood up, “if I cannot be of assistance, I think I should remove myself from temptation.”

“You’ll have a full escort home.” Jack nodded.

“Anthea? If you don’t mind working from my home office, I have some work I can get done?”

“Certainly, Sir.”

They didn’t say anything until they were safely inside Mycroft’s home, with a guard stationed in front and back.

“Alright Anthea, care to fill me in?”

“I should have known I couldn’t fool you.”

Mycroft snorted.

“I got an email, purportedly from Serdon.” She said quietly. “Bennison was blackmailing him, and his guards abused him.”

“So he did run?” Mycroft hadn’t thought so.

“No, Moriarty kidnapped him, but I suspect with that abuse from his guards, and Bennison, that Moriarty didn’t find it difficult to persuade him to cooperate once he was a prisoner.” Anthea sighed, “He phrased it as ‘Moriarty rescued me’.”

Mycroft sighed, “Of course _.” If he was being abused, directly or not, by Bennison, that would be all the leverage Moriarty would need._

*

Jim reached down and dragged his fingers through Lloyd’s hair. “It shouldn’t take them long to break those guards of yours, pet.”

“Yes, sir.” Lloyd’s eyes gleamed in the light of the laptop computer he was working on while he knelt at Jim’s side. “I hope it hurts.”

Jim slid his finger down the man’s neck to the collar he wore. “Of course it will. If it doesn’t hurt enough, I’m sure I can have Mycroft take it up a few steps.”  He smiled. “Now, all we have to do is wait until the net is nearly closed, and then help dear Mr. Bennison escape.” He slid his fingers into the collar and tugged. “Will you be done soon?”

“Y-yes, Sir.”  Lloyd panted.

Jim pulled his hand away. “When you’re done, pet, come to my room, you’re due a reward.”

Lloyd looked after him as he walked away. “Yes, Sir.” And went back to his work with renewed fervor.

*

Sherlock and John found to their shock that there were not merely informational pages for Asexuality, but there were in fact pages, discussion forums and social groups for an entire spectrum of people using acronyms and abbreviations for terminology they had never heard of.

Sherlock dove into it with the sheer joy of an entirely new field of study– John mostly tried to pick up a few pieces.

“So… there are Asexuals who enjoy sex but don’t have the attraction to people like... other folks, and there are Asexuals who are completely repulsed by sex, and then there’s the Aromantics which is a different thing?”

“Exactly! I’m thinking of drawing up a graph…” Sherlock said happily.

“So, uh, where are you on this?”

“I’m not sure. I think it may require some experimentation, but I appear to be quite firmly in the Asexual, not Demisexual–Jim was quite right about that–category, although I just seem to be disinterested in sex, not actively repulsed…”

Sherlock went on happily and John started searching to see if there was a support group for non-Asexuals in relationships with asexual partners… there had to be one.

“I think I’ll find a black ring somewhere, it’s apparently traditional…” Sherlock muttered as he was staring at, for some reason, a webpage full of images of cake.

“It will go with your wardrobe, grey, black and purple? Hell, you’re already color coded.” John sighed.

Sherlock was muttering happily about charts and pinning paper to the wall. “We need more colored markers, John, can you run out?”

*

Anthea received a text message: “JM has a message to pass on. I’m outside. SM”

“Sir! We have company, Sebastian is outside… I think we’ll need to get rid of the guards.”

“Apparently he can climb well,” Mycroft sounded a bit surly as he recalled why he knew that. “See if he can get in without alerting them if we open a secured window.”

A brief flurry of texts and it was arranged.  Mycroft watched dourly as the man slipped in a window that should not be accessible, at all.

“Sebastian? I’m still pissed at you, but I suppose it’s not entirely your fault.” Anthea said as she closed the window.

“Can’t blame you, and yes it is.” He shook his head, “If I’d just told him in the first place, or better yet not involved you.” He sighed. “What could I do? You’re hot!” he grinned at her, “Then I got to know you better and I let myself get sentimental.”

Mycroft watched the interaction with the same unease he felt the last time. “So is Jim still upset at you?” A _pparently he’s allowed to be alone with me now, or does Anthea qualify as “not alone”?_

“Who knows?” Sebastian shrugged. “YOU can barely read him; you think I have a chance?”

“You have a message?” Mycroft asked, studying the man, wondering about what Jim had said about him.

Sebastian took out an envelope. He extracted several papers and a photo and put them on the desk in the room.  Both Anthea and Mycroft stared.  There were detailed notes, short but all the important information, on Bennison, his holdings, his bank accounts, his people.  It was something of a shock to find out how many of his people he had blackmail or other leverage on.

And he apparently had leverage on two of Mycroft’s peers.

“He would have had you, if you hadn’t gone to the whole group.” Sebastian nodded. “Looks like he was working on making himself into the puppet master.”

“I assume Jim had a proposal?” Mycroft said as calmly as he could manage.

Sebastian nodded. “Yes, one of his people will help him escape.”

“What?!” Anthea  exclaimed, and then looked the two men… “but not really?”

Mycroft was smiling slowly; it was a smile that Jim had seen often in his first week of captivity.

Sebastian looked up, saw the expression and smiled sharply back. “Jim wanted to know if you wanted some firsthand lessons on how to REALLY hurt someone: you should take him up on it, he’s a great teacher.”

Anthea frowned, “Is that wise?” but she looked back down at the file, and her hand went up to rub her neck.

Sebastian grinned at her in a considerably more friendly fashion. “I am authorized to tell you that as long as you don’t kill him, you can go first.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a reminder, my proof reader has been ill. i will correct things as i can.  
> also...  
> Sherlock is very happy, there are whole new labels and researches and isnt this INTERESTING?! Poor John.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> and time goes by...

Bennison’s guards on Serdon held out until it was clear they would be dealing with a full interrogation, and then they fell over each other to sell him–and each other– out. All the sordid details of Bennison’s behavior and the guards’ permitted abuse of Serdon were put down in a report, and handed in.

Springfield was furious, as were the other people in the group and any of the upper level computer staff who were informed.   _This certainly explained why Serdon was such a cowering mouse._

Jack had Bennison dragged in.

“You- “ he took a moment to get his temper back under control, “your actions alienated our computer security expert.  If Moriarty does have him, he’ll have turned him in a heartbeat!”

Bennison tried to say something and one of his guards punched him in the stomach.

“Take him to holding. We’ll begin interrogation in the morning when Mr. Holmes is back.” Springfield glared at him. “I owe Mycroft that much.”

*

Sometime in the very early morning, with Bennison stripped to just his underwear, shivering in the cold cell, a familiar voice got his attention.

“So, do I assume you have a few bank accounts they don’t know about?”

Bennison looked up. It was the PA of one of his pawns on the committee– he didn’t have anything on the PA.

“Maybe, why?”

“Because if I’m right you’ve been bleeding my boss lady.” The man smirked, “Oh I’m not mad, God knows I would if I could.  Willing to make a trade?”

“What kind of trade?”

“I get you out of here– and you’re going to have to run, because I can get you out but I can’t erase all of this– and I get the leash on my boss, and a few bucks.”

Bennison grinned, “I could do that. I’ll need to get to my house though, there’s somethings I don’t want them to find.”

“I could get you that far.” The PA– Geoff– nodded. “Wait.”

He went away.  The guards made another round, and shortly after that there was a canister bouncing down the hallway, and gas….

Bennison woke up in a car, still in his underwear, under a blanket.

“We’re almost at your house. I’ll wait in the car.”

“Pity we didn’t meet before, we could have worked together.” Bennison said warmly.

Geoff smiled professionally, “It would certainly have been interesting.  Once I have the leash and some money in my account, though, I don’t want to see you again.”

“I’ll be out of the country soon enough.”

“I don’t want to know.”

Bennison slipped into his house, he walked through a quick shower and got dressed, then he started pulling weapons and information together, as well as cash.  He’d just shoot Geoff and take the car to the airport and be gone.

He came out and the car was empty. _What?_   A sharp pain hit him in the shoulder and everything spun.  The last thing he heard was Geoff’s voice. “Mr. Moriarty sends his regards.”

*

When Anthea and Mycroft walked in in the morning the place was in chaos.

They were pulled into an emergency meeting, and rapidly found out that Bennison had escaped, with some kind of help.

“That shouldn’t be POSSIBLE!” Mycroft exploded. “From our secure cells? What kind of –“

“We don’t know, the security and cameras were disabled remotely, but there were physical agents and –“

“Moriarty?” Mycroft asked.

“Possible.”

“In any event,” a very tired Bela was saying, “He apparently got back to his house, a number of his belongings were missing, and several secret compartments opened. His safe was empty as well.  He’s gone.”

Mycroft noticed her PA quietly putting a reassuring hand on her back. It reminded him of Anthea. He looked away.

One of the quieter members of their number spoke up–William Cunningham, he’d been a level below them and moved up in the crises–“Sir?” he stood up, very tiredly. “First I would like to suggest that the man may have been working for Moriarty the entire time.”

“Why would he attack Sebastian and the others then?” Mycroft asked.

“Oh, I didn’t mean he KNEW he was.  I believe the profile on Moriarty said he worked by indirection quite often?”

Several people nodded.

“He may have been working for him through proxies– with him if you prefer– in which case Moriarty would have an incentive to make certain he wasn’t interrogated.”

There was a brief discussion, and even Mycroft had to admit it was possible.

“In which case it would be a question,” Mycroft nodded at him, “whether Moriarty had him shot, or helped him escape.”

“Yes, and I have insufficient information.” He nodded. “The second matter is that I must tender my resignation.”

“What?!” almost half of them shouted, Mycroft had seen it as a strong possibility and kept his mouth shut.

Springfield looked at him. “We can’t afford to lose you. Why would you resign?”

“Bennison had blackmail and leverage on me.  While he was one of our number it was at least not a threat to England, but now?”

Mycroft looked thoughtful. “As was proven in my case, if we know about it, it’s less of an issue.”

“Among other things some of the video would be a public relations nightmare.” He admitted.

Mycroft shrugged, “We can claim it is doctored, and also suppress it as needed.  Anthea is very good with computers, I’m sure she can arrange a cover up.”

“Certainly.” Anthea nodded. “Once I know what he had on you I can also release some doctored ones preemptively, where it can be proven they are faked.”

Several people nodded, he looked a bit relieved.

Springfield looked at him. “Talk privately with Holmes, Cunningham, let them get things started. If it was any other time I’d be raking all of you over the coals, but right now the situations in America, Korea, China, and Serbia are explosive, and I need all of you.”

*

Sherlock was looking down at his phone when John came in to make breakfast.

“A case?” he asked.

“No, I have to go to Jim’s tailor and get fitted for better formalwear.”

“Oh.  What’s wrong with your formalwear?”

“Wrong tailor, apparently? I’m not certain.”

“So you want company?”

“While I would love some, I suspect it would be inadvisable.” Sherlock sighed.

Over the next week he had several fittings, and one day John came home to see him standing in the flat in an outfit that almost stopped John’s heart.

“John? Why do people keep staring– Oh now you’re doing it.”

He was in slacks of midnight blue, and a pale blue shirt, with a tie in blue and black and brown, and a casual jacket –that likely cost more than the flat– slung over his shoulder.  His hair looked softer, and his eyes bluer and the color of his skin seemed to have improved overnight…

“You look incredible.”

Sherlock sighed and went off to his room.

 *

Two weeks after Bennison’s disappearance Bela sat nervously in the passenger seat, while her PA drove her out of London. She didn’t want to be in the back, isolated.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you earlier, Ma’am.”

“So I’ve traded Bennison for Moriarty? Hardly an improvement.”

“I’ve seen how much you were having to deal with.” He said softly. “I couldn’t stand it. When one of his people made contact it was… it was the only chance I could see.”

“You don’t know what he had on me.” She said sadly.

“It doesn’t matter.” He reached out and squeezed her hand.

They were escorted into a luxurious house.  They were both checked for bugs and asked, politely, to put their weapons in a safe.

They were then escorted further in.  A familiar voice said, “All tracking successfully disabled or misdirected, Sir.”

Both of them looked over at Lloyd Serdon, kneeling next to a chair with a small laptop stand on the floor next to him.  He was wearing slacks, and a casual Henley, and a collar, and Jim Moriarty was sitting in the chair idly petting his hair while he looked amused at the two new arrivals.

“Serdon?” Bela asked quietly. He looked up and nodded slowly. 

Moriarty ran his fingers down the man’s neck, and he closed his eyes and leaned into it.

“I’m afraid Lloyd hasn’t been given permission to speak to you, and he’s SUCH a good boy.” Serdon practically melted from the praise. “Why don’t we wait for the others to show up? I’m sure Mr. Bennison doesn’t mind.” Jim smiled over at them. “Sebie? Do be a dear and get them a drink. Ms. Chalker”– he used her real name, which even most of the committee didn’t know– “would like a gin and tonic, and Geoff would like tea.”

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hard questions...

They sat there, stiffly uncomfortable with their drinks, and a small platter of snacks.  Moriarty was apparently having Serdon going through his mail and his business, and sending some items to a small computer pad Moriarty looked at and made notes back, so they never heard the details of his business.

It seemed a very long time before they heard people being shown in.  The guard, Sebastian, looked up and smiled at the newcomers.  They didn’t expect Mycroft Holmes’ measured voice to say, “Well, I admit I wasn’t expecting you.”

“Geoff? What in God’s name are you–?” Anthea was standing next to Holmes, staring at him.

“I could ask you the same.” Geoff  answered.

“Goody! Everyone’s here.”

“Serdon seems to be in a rather poorer position.” Mycroft said calmly. Anthea spun and stared, seeing Serdon kneeling at the chair for the first time.

“Hmm? Lloyd?” Jim smiled, “He’s quite alright, Mycroft. Not everyone has an allergy to kneeling.”

Jim got up from his chair and made a “stay” gesture at Serdon.

“So, before anyone gets any TIRESOME ideas… Mycroft and Anthea are here because I promised them a shot at Bennison.” He looked pleasantly thoughtful, “Well to be precise I offered to show Mycroft how to do a better job at torturing someone than he did with me, because as you can tell I’m horribly traumatized.” He smirked.

Mycroft snorted. “I’m almost beginning to believe you enjoyed it.”

Bela was looking back and forth, her hand closing on Geoff’s arm. They’d both seen the images of what Mycroft did to him, _why wasn’t he dead, why wasn’t there bloodshed?_

“Enjoyed?” Jim sighed and walked over to Mycroft. “Darling, I’m sorry, but you have some native talent, and a nice streak of viciousness, but the only part of it I enjoyed was reading to you, and frankly I would have chosen better books.”

He turned his back on him and walked away. “Come along children, daddy will take you to visit uncle Bennison. He’ll be glad of the company for a few minutes I think.” He snapped his fingers and Serdon closed up the laptop and picked it up to trail after them.

As they followed Jim, with Sebastian walking behind them like a shadow, Bela said quietly to Mycroft. “I was not expecting this, you almost seem… friendly?”

“I lost control of this situation quite some time ago.” Mycroft sighed.

They walked into a room that was concrete– an underground garage Mycroft realized– and had a hose coiled off on one side.  There were shelves along one wall and it looked like garden equipment including a large wood chipper.

One of the men opened a closet, and pulled out Bennison.  He was nude, shackled hand and foot, gagged and blindfolded. Bela’s mouth twisted in a snarl, and Sebastian grabbed one arm, Geoff the other, before she could move.

“Oliver darling, you have guests.” Jim sang out. He nodded at the men holding him who attached his wrists to a chain.  Jim handed Serdon a remote. He ducked his head and pressed a button, and the motor dragged the chain up slowly.

When Bennison was off his feet entirely, hanging from his wrists, Jim patted Serdon and said, “Put his feet on the ground dear, we need to talk.”

The chain released until he could put his weight, just, on his feet and stopped.  He was breathing hard behind the gag.

“Shoo.” Jim said to his men and they left, quickly, to take up stations somewhere out of sight, all except Sebastian.

“So who gets to unwrap him?” Jim smirked.

Anthea shrugged, “I don’t want to unwrap him, I just want to hit him open like a piñata.”

Bennison jerked and turned his head back and forth.

“You are so delightfully violent; I can see why Sebastian likes you.”

“I’m not into torture, Mr. Moriarty. I’m perfectly happy with him just knowing I saw him like this.” She smiled politely. “Can I have a photo?”

“Now you see, Mycroft darling,” and Bennison stilled, “That’s one thing that even you must realize.  Sometimes the very worst thing is that anyone else saw you lose.  It’s not the loss itself, it’s the witness.” He smiled and had Serdon take a photo. “Which is why I brought you all here, after all.”

Geoff shrugged and walked over. “Good to see you again, Mr. Bennison.” He pulled off the gag and the blindfold. “Better than seeing you in the office.” He walked back to Bela.

Oliver Bennison stared at them, and then his eyes tracked to Serdon, standing calmly just beside Moriarty.  He looked back at Mycroft. “but you tortured him…?” he said, mouth dry.

“Apparently I am terrible at it.” Mycroft answered drily, with just a hint of the wounded pride that was underneath.  Jim giggled.

“Indeed he did, Oliver. And it’s true; he is terrible at it, although probably good enough to break a pathetic excuse for a person like yourself.  Still,“ He smiled, “You’re healthy, and you’ll make a wonderful practice dummy.”

He started sputtering and bargaining, but Jim spun and faced the others. “So, I need him in enough pieces to use as a lesson, but if any of you want a shot at him? Here’s your chance.”

Geoff just shook his head. “I wouldn’t mind a photo, but no.” Serdon took another one.

“Mycroft! This is treason!” Bennison screamed.

Mycroft just looked at him. “No, not once you were stripped of your position, after that its only torture, murder, and whatever else I end up doing, but not treason.”

“Sebie dear? “ Jim waved a hand. Sebastian walked over, scooped up the gag off the floor, and yanked the man’s head back by his hair. He shoved the gag back in.

“Thank you Sebie. Anyway, as I was saying… Anthea? Are you certain?”

She looked him up and down. “He’s not worth getting my nail polish chipped.” She sniffed.

Jim clapped delightedly. “Bela?”

She looked him over and then turned to Jim. “He had quite a bit on me; if it gets out I’m no use to you either.”

“Oh, you misunderstand, we already interrogated him.” Jim said pleasantly.

Bennison jerked and stared at him. Jim smiled. “Tell Oliver how long he’s been missing, Mycroft.”

“Two weeks.” Mycroft nodded. “Drugs, obviously, since he didn’t remember.”

“Mmm-Hmm.” Jim hummed happily. “I know all about his blackmail and his leverage, and all of it is under my control now.”

Bela smiled, then. “In that case? I have no need to, but when you finally feed him his balls, make sure to put some salt on it for me.”

Jim arched an eyebrow. “Would you two like some time alone?” he said nodding at Bela and Geoff. “I have some lovely rooms upstairs.”

She nodded.

“Sebie? Show them to the bedrooms, will you?” he glanced at Anthea, “And go ahead and take your Tigress.” Sebastian looked like he was about to kiss the man. “I expect gratitude, after, Moran.”

“Of course, Sir.” He said almost bowing at Jim, before he took Anthea’s elbow and led them out.

*

“You can speak, Lloyd, if you want to, but you don’t have to.” Jim said after they were gone.

Mycroft looked at him curiously. He’d always been one of the quieter members of their association, unless you were talking about computer related business, now? He was standing in a completely submissive posture to Jim– unbound, ungagged– and Jim had said he didn’t HAVE to speak?  Did he have some issue with it?  Bennison and his men had been abusing him sexually for years, but he would have expected him to flinch away from touch, not seek it out.  He felt a flicker of jealousy as he watched Jim stroke Serdon’s neck.

Serdon turned practically into Jim’s side, pressing his head into his shoulder and mumbling something.  Jim nodded. “Go back to your room, dear, I’ll be a bit busy.”

Serdon left quickly.

Mycroft waited until he was gone, ignoring Bennison struggling in his chains, trying to shout around the gag. “You certainly seem to have broken Serdon.”

“Broken? Oh he was broken ages ago, darling. I’m rebuilding him. Bennison broke him, and his men.”

“Then why? He won’t speak, and he’s… well as you said he isn’t allergic to kneeling.”

Jim walked up into Mycroft’s space, practically chest to chest. Mycroft could see Bennison’s eyes widen as he stared at them. “In a way, it’s something you might understand. He’s safe, and he doesn’t have to think.  No one touches him unless he wants them to, and when I do– and yes, Mycroft I’m bedding him– he enjoys himself immensely.”

Mycroft’s hands tightened on his umbrella. “I don’t like thinking about it.”

“Darling Mycroft,” Jim pulled him down into a kiss.  Mycroft wrapped his arms around him and practically pulled the smaller man off his feet.  Bennison’s muffled howls ignored for now.  Eventually he had to come up for air. “I’m not going to ever be exclusive, Mycroft.” Jim laughed up at him, “And you’re far too inexperienced to keep up with me yet, but I assure you; I might share my bed, but you’re the only one I **might** share my crown with.”

“You don’t have a crown; we made you give it up.” Mycroft growled down at him. _God he wanted to forget all this and have him right now._

“Mycroft, really?” Jim smirked, and then very quietly, “feel like giving him a show then?”

Mycroft nodded, darkly amused at the idea.  Jim slid down and opened up Mycroft’s pants, and got to work. Mycroft ended up holding onto Jim to stay upright as his vision came and went, Bennison ceasing to struggle, finally just watching in lust and confusion.  Mycroft managing to strangle his screams when he came, and almost collapsing… then finding himself trying to respond with interest as Jim cleaned him up with his tongue.

“God!” He breathed as Jim carefully put him back into his pants and zipped him up.

Jim stood up, smiling darkly, “Yours, possibly, but as I keep telling you, Mycroft; I play for the other team. “ Jim pulled him over closer to Bennison. “As to a crown? Well the crown belongs to the British Government doesn’t it? and that’s you, Mycroft… and I have you, so…” he smirked. “The actual crown itself is just a symbol darling, no matter how good I look in it.”

Mycroft suddenly realized a horrifying truth.  He staggered and Jim had to catch him, he looked down at Jim and saw a flash of sympathy sparkle briefly in his eyes.

“Oh. Oh poor darling. Are you only just realizing?” Jim pulled him away toward the door. “Bennison can wait, my fallen angel, my room is nearby.”

Mycroft let himself be led along.

Jim had given no instructions, no threats. Anthea was undoubtedly alone with Sebastian, and out of harm’s way for the moment, he was armed, and alone with Jim Moriarty…

And he had never even considered trying to harm him.

Jim guided him into the room and onto the bed, “A gag is easier than ordering a slave not to speak, they don’t have to worry about it.” he said, “And having you stripped of your weapons and threatening your friends let you console yourself with the belief that you couldn’t help yourself.  But that’s all in the past, Mycroft.  My room is soundproofed, and you’re armed.” Jim smiled up at him. “And honestly I doubt Sebastian would harm your friends if I was dead, he’d just kill you.”

“So time to confront yourself, Mycroft. What do you really want?”

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> so...what do you want?

Mycroft stared at Jim.  He was sitting on the bed, alone with him, in a soundproofed room…

  _What did I want?  I want to make you scream in agony, I want to make you scream my name, I want to hold you down and hurt you, I want to hold you down and fuck you, I want you chained at my feet, I want to be chained at your feet,_ _I want you dead._ Mycroft’s head spun with conflicting desires.

Jim laughed from the bed. “If you take off all those silly clothes, darling, and lie down, I might be convinced to step up your lessons.”

“I want to finish what I started.” Mycroft growled.

“What? Making ridiculously UGLY scars on me? Or having me suck you off and then fucking you until you pass out?”

Mycroft strode forward and grabbed Jim by the throat. “You should be at my feet!”  He wanted to squeeze until Jim struggled and gasped and went slack in his hands– he wanted to lie under him and come apart.

Jim just smirked, “I was, just a few minutes ago, in front of Bennison; I thought you enjoyed it.”

His head hurt with the memory, so he threw Jim to the floor. Jim just rolled over and looked up at him. Mycroft tensed for a kick, and Jim simply looked at him. _No fear, no concern, no flinch– just lying there looking at him with those eyes..._

Mycroft reached down instead and twisted Jim’s arm behind his back and pulled him back on the bed. He forced him down…Mycroft could still feel Jim’s unreadable eyes on him… _“What do you want, Mycroft?”_

“Make up your mind darling, I’m getting scuffed.”

“I’ll do more than scuff you.” Mycroft growled but instead of feeling powerful, he felt unbalanced, as though nothing was where it should be somehow. _What do I want?_

Jim sighed. “You don’t even know how. Now you have a choice–” the fact that this was being said while he was being shoved face first into the bed didn’t seem to faze him one bit. “You can stop this ridiculous nonsense RIGHT NOW, and I will only punish you slightly… or you can keep going, and I may break you.”

Mycroft wanted nothing more than to cut the clothes off him and slice him to ribbons… but…Jim was brilliant… and glorious… and… _What do I want? Why?_

“Mycroft, I assure you that if I really have to break you, you won’t be coming back. You won’t be sharing my bed, because frankly you won’t be worth dealing with.”

“I could kill you.” He clung to that thought like a lifeline.

“Yes, you could, and then what?”

Mycroft frowned, “What?” _Then what?...then_ …Mycroft  slowed as he realized he couldn’t quite picture a world without Jim in it… _Then what indeed?_

“You die, of course… not a surprise. But why?  Not to save your darling brother, not to save Anthea, not to any greater purpose. You die because I died. That’s it.  Poetic I suppose,” he mused very calmly. He wasn’t struggling, he didn’t move. “You would at least succeed where Sherlock failed, we would both die more or less together…” Jim spoke somewhat dreamily, “I suppose it’s a good thing I’m in scruffies, I can be buried in my Westwood…”

“You’re insane.” _This was wrong, this was all wrong._

“I believe you said that before.” Jim sighed, “Now are you going to let me up, and take your punishment, kill me and yourself, or what?”

“You tried to kill Sherlock–“ Mycroft snarled, desperately trying to cling to something.

“So?” Jim said softly, “You wanted to mark him with blood, carve him into ribbons, slowly, while you listened to that beautiful voice beg–“

“SHUT UP!” Mycroft recoiled away, twisting his head, clawing at himself in an ineffectual attempt to stop thinking about it…

“Sherlock, lying naked in your cell, safe, only you able to touch him–” Jim‘s voice wrapped itself around in his mind. “He’d be yours, only yours, you could keep him safe and you could punish him–“   Mycroft stood up shakily and pulled the knife from his umbrella.

Jim sat coolly on the bed with a gun–he wasn’t bothering to even aim it at him. “Never bring a knife to a gunfight, Mycroft. That will cost you more punishment.  Last chance.”

Mycroft dropped the knife, and the umbrella– he collapsed kneeling on the floor.  He didn’t even notice when Jim came up with the injector and he only twitched as the drug took effect and he slid to the floor.

*

After Bela and Geoff got taken to a room, Sebastian turned to Anthea. “How have you been?”

“The usual.” She nodded, “Except busier.  Can I ask you a question?”

“You can ask, can’t guarantee an answer.”

“Charles.  The guard.” She looked tense.

“He’s alive.  Not very happy, I don’t think, but alive.  Having Lloyd tell him what Bennison was doing to him kind of shook him.  He’ll probably end up working for Jim somewhere.”

“Can we get him back?”

“I doubt it, I guess I could ask, or more likely you and Mycroft could.”

She nodded and changed the subject. “So we have some time alone?”

“Yeah,” he grinned. “You want a bedroom or a playroom?”

“What kind of playroom?”

“Cross, horse, various restraints, pretty much anything.”

She sighed, “I get the feeling it would be a bad idea.”

“Terrible idea.”  He said nodding.

“So? Where is it?”

He led the way, “Sorry to say you can’t lock me in without an easy out. I’m on call. That also limits what I can take.”

“I love how you assume I’ll top.”

He grinned, “And you wouldn’t? You want me to hold you down instead? I’m pretty good at it.”

“Fuck no; I want to leave stripes on you.” His eyes gleamed and he gave her a very unsettling smile in response.

This was, in fact a very serious dungeon, she noted.  A lot of the standard play toys, but… an unsettling number of things most people wouldn’t play with. She hoped they were for show.

“Interesting room.” She commented neutrally.

“Yeah, double duty,” Sebastian shrugged. “It’s… probably safer for you to top in here anyway, at least without Jim on standby.”

That had an edge of concern behind it, and made her wonder exactly what she had gotten into–hopefully Mycroft would be able to figure it out– but in the meantime there was a good looking and dangerous man, and a selection of flogs…

They were just getting set up, Sebastian in loose restraints to the cross, and Anthea hefting a few of the flogs for weight, when Jim walked in without warning.

“Eep!” Anthea started badly, “Uh, Sebastian?”

Sebastian looked over and saw the look on Jim’s face and hit the quick release. “Jim?”

“Huh. Alright, I admit, not what I expected…” he said, rocking on his heels slightly, “Tiger? Need you on duty I’m afraid.”

Sebastian waved frantically at Anthea, she dropped the flog and stepped back.

“Sir?” Sebastian sounded more formal. Anthea watched as his posture was cautious, restricted.

“Go fetch Mycroft out of my room, will you. He’s been a complete ass, and I need to punish him. It’s so tiresome, I had plans.” He was frowning in a distracted fashion.

“Yes, sir.” Sebastian didn’t stop to get dressed just went off at speed.

Jim turned and looked at Anthea. “I OUGHT to make you flog Mycroft, but it’s not fair, really, you didn’t do anything.” He tapped at his chin thoughtfully, “When is Mycroft needed back at the office?”

“Monday morning… Sir.” She said hesitantly. “Assuming no emergencies.” He didn’t look like anything she’d seen before; he usually looked amused, or malevolent, or friendly–he looked blank, and unreadable.

“Well, he’ll get the first part of his punishment today, that should give him enough time to recover.  He can get the second half later.” Jim shrugged. “I’m afraid I need to borrow Sebie for a bit.”  He settled himself into one of the chairs. “He’ll probably be a bit worked up, after.  Might do him good to get the edge taken off him after–in a bedroom, not here.”

“What do you want him to do?” she asked worriedly, and then Sebastian carried the limp form of Mycroft into the room.

“Where do you want him, Sir?”

“Wherever is convenient to flog him, Sebie.”

“You’re… flogging… Mycroft?” Anthea’s eyes kept darting around, “Why?”

“He tried to attack me, eventually drew a blade on me.” Jim shrugged, “I suppose it was not entirely unexpected, but disappointing.” He looked at her. “As long as you behave, you don’t have to be punished, and his punishment won’t do him permanent harm.  You might want to leave, however.”

Sebastian was stripping Mycroft rather efficiently. “Tiger? Go out, ask one of the boys to take you to a guest room, and STAY there. Really, it’s better for him, too.”

She gritted her teeth. “Nothing permanent?”

Jim shrugged. “He might end up with a small new scar, or a piercing, but nothing that causes any functional problems.”

She spun on her heel and walked to the door. “Sebastian? I want a fucking REPORT, and no sugar coating.”

Sebastian looked at Jim, who nodded. “Sure thing, Tiger.”

She walked out.

Jim looked after her thoughtfully. “You know? I’m beginning to like her.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> illegal contact, and punishment

John was looking at Sherlock who was repacking his suitcase–again. He was going to go someplace for Moriarty on Tuesday– it was Friday and he had repacked this suitcase at least five times.

“Do you have any idea where you’re going?”

“I already told you: no.” Sherlock answered. He was trying to sound calm and unruffled, but he was stressed.

“I wish I could come with you.” John said, again, “I don’t like you being off somewhere with him.”

“He- He didn’t…” Sherlock sighed. “He had me for weeks, and he didn’t hurt me. It makes no sense to buy me fancy clothing and then take me away to hurt me.”

John put his arms around Sherlock. “He hurt you.”

“No, Sebastian hurt –“

“Sherlock, you may be the smartest man in the room, but sometimes you’re an idiot.”

Sherlock huffed, “I have no idea what you mean, john.”

“He HURT you.  Whatever he did… well as you said, you feel like you lost, and you don’t even bother to argue with him.  For God’s sake, he called and you kidnapped yourself.  That sure seems hurt to me.”

“I… I suppose. It’s not something I can–” Sherlock’s cell phone rang and they both flinched.

Sherlock picked it up and frowned at it. “Hello?” he looked very confused and put the phone on speaker. “I’ve put you on speaker, John is here. Now can you repeat that?”

It was Anthea’s voice, but stressed and tense. “I said Mycroft’s run into some trouble and I need advice.”

“I doubt I can help.” Sherlock sighed. “Mycroft never told me much of his–“

“It’s Moriarty.”

“I had thought that issue was–“

“Apparently Mycroft attacked him and pulled a knife.”

John stared at the phone. Sherlock’s eyes widened. “Why would he do that NOW?”

“I don’t know.  Moriarty was… I’m afraid Mycroft will be hurt.”

“Was Jim injured?”

“No, I don’t think so? He… he said he was going to flog Mycroft, that he wouldn’t be damaged badly and… look, I don’t know what to make of any of this. You know Moriarty better than I do. Is there anything I can do?”

“Was Sebastian there? Because he is insanely protective of Jim, and he might hurt anyone who attacked him. You may be able to help if you can calm him down.”

“We were together when Moriarty came in, he got very tense when he saw Moriarty’s expression and he hauled Mycroft in– Mycroft was unconscious before Sebastian got to him.  I got sent out.  Look, Moriarty… I’ve never seen him look like that, it was creepy.”

“Where are you?”

“Where we were before.”

“I can come there?” Sherlock was hesitant.

John snapped, “No.  If Jim’s in a mood isn’t it better to keep things a bit quieter?”

“I’m supposed to be there on Tuesday anyway.” Sherlock said to John.

Anthea immediately asked, “You are? Why?”

“Part of my bargain to get John back, and no I don’t know what the entirety of Mycroft’s bargain was; I was dismissed after we concluded our arrangements.”

There was a sudden burst of static on the line, and then a new voice, “You do not have permission to call out.”

“It’s just Sherlock, he’s… cleared.” Anthea sounded rattled, “He’s been here. John Watson and I were –“

“Oh, yes. Jim’s escort… You still had no permission to call out.”

“I was worried.  I didn’t talk to anyone but them.”

“Who is this?” Sherlock finally managed to ask.

“I am Jim Moriarty’s.  Among other things I run his computer security. The two of you will come in now because this is a security breach, and until Jim can tell me what to do I’m calling you in.”

John started to argue Sherlock put a hand out. “We will be there. I need to make certain we aren’t followed, I have a lot of eyes on me.”

There was an amused snort. “Your guards are being reassigned; they’ll be out of the way shortly. CCTV cameras are being rerouted now.  There will be a taxi to an intermediate location in a few minutes and one of our men will pick you up from there.”

John hesitantly asked, “Moriarty can do that? He never did before?”

“If you like, you can talk to Anthea when you get here. I am disabling her phone now.”

There was a buzz and a crackle and the line went dead.

*

Mycroft woke up lying on a smooth padded surface. Well lying might be a poor description, bent over, supported but not lying.  His mind started working more toward its usual speeds… _wrists and ankles restrained, nude, and supported_ –not good at all.  His shoulder hurt. He vaguely remembered a tranquilizer injection.

Then his memory recovered and he remembered what Jim had been saying-remembered the sight of Sherlock lying in his cell, remembered Sherlock sitting on the floor as a child- He jerked and twisted and if the restraints had been any less secure he might have broken his wrists.

“Awake obviously.” Jim’s voice behind him. “I expected you to balk again, but I admit I didn’t expect it then, or that much.”

“Just kill me, please.” His voice was hoarse.

“Why? You didn’t kill me.  Why should I do you any favors?” Jim walked over and trailed fingers down his back. “Sherlock? I might kill him; he was kinder than you, after all, but you? Oh no my love, you’ll either shatter to bits, or be my next masterpiece. Those are your choices.”

“So you’ll torture me?”

“Oh yes.” Jim laughed. “I was going to let you get a simple lesson on Bennison, but I think, yes, I will torture you again–don’t worry, darling, you’ll enjoy it.”

~

Jim sat back down. “Sebastian? As we discussed.”

Sebastian  hefted a few flogs, a smile on his face at getting to do something to Mycroft, finally, even if it was nowhere near enough; he picked one of the lighter ones and was about to start when the door opened and Serdon came in hurriedly, stopping in front of Jim with his head bowed. _Lloyd hated being around punishments, so whatever was up must be trouble._

“Wait, Sebastian.” Jim nodded at Lloyd, “What’s the matter?”

“There has been a security breach, Sir; I believe it to be controlled, but…”

“Good boy,” he ran a hand across Lloyd’s cheek, “Explain?”

“Anthea.” He said.

Sebastian flinched– _oh God, no…_

Mycroft almost gasped, twisting to try to see Jim.

“Really? She seemed like such a sensible girl.” Jim blinked, “What did she do.”

“She called Sherlock Holmes. She said she only called him, I checked: the phone records confirm that.  She did state that he was cleared, as was John Watson, however I ordered them both to come in.” he looked up at Jim, “I rerouted surveillance and arranged a pick up. They should be here in an hour.”

“Hmm.” Jim petted Lloyd idly. “She didn’t have permission, but she IS correct, they are cleared.” Sebastian relaxed slightly.

Mycroft’s voice shook as he said, “She didn’t do anything, neither did my brother, please, Jim, it’s my fault.”

“Oh it is, Mycroft. It’s entirely your fault, but Sherlock is certainly involved...” He looked at Lloyd. “You did the right thing. Text me when they get nearby, alright?”

Lloyd nodded. Jim smiled at him. “Would you like to stay? Or go upstairs?”

“I’ll wait for them.” Lloyd nodded. Firmly.

“Shoo.”

Lloyd slipped out the door.

“Sebie?”  Sebastian relaxed a bit as Jim called him that; it usually reflected a better mood– usually. “I want him able to be brought back to coherence before his brother gets here.”

“Yes, Sir.”

~

Mycroft had determined to take it stoically. He deserved it and he wouldn’t bring any further punishment down on the others– hopefully he could convince Jim to leave Sherlock out of this. The first strike of the flog made him hiss, but it really wasn’t that bad. He started counting in his head: _two, three, four…_ The blows kept up, fast and even.

By the tenth he was wondering what Sebastian was playing at, it scarcely hurt, just a faint sting and a dull ache.

By the fifteenth he knew something was wrong.

By the twentieth? _was it? Everything was odd…_ he felt dizzy, and short of breath, and his skin was pulsing….

Somehow Jim was in front of him, pulling his head up by his hair, “Oh that’s lovely Mycroft… Good work, Sebie, keep it up.”

He had no idea what number he was on. He couldn’t think…

Somehow he was on a mat, Sebastian was moving him, he distantly felt his legs being restrained again– spreader bar, like the first time– but not his hands…

Jim was in front of him again, holding his head up, “Pain and pleasure are so intimately linked, Mycroft; I told you we’d work with endorphins… Sebastian? Give him five more and I think he’ll be ready to play.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft starts paying the price, and Sherlock and John arrive...   
> TW extremely dubious consent, payback, punishment

_Mycroft looked absolutely wonderful like this_.  He was so far gone in an endorphin haze– his eyes dark, skin flushed, swaying even on his hands and knees– that Jim was certain he could do anything to him. Jim was momentarily distracted by a variety of wicked thoughts, but most of them wouldn’t suit– he needed to bring Mycroft to heel, not completely shatter his mind. _Of course, a few cracks in his sanity would make the leverage a bit easier; the trick is to break him just enough to still be worth rebuilding._

Jim nodded at Sebastian and Sebastian stepped back and grinned. Jim knelt down in front of Mycroft and steered him, stroking along his skin; by this point pain and pleasure were the same thing, and stroking the welts was making him moan. Jim played him like an instrument and in short order he had Mycroft going down on him.  When he showed any signs of coming up out of the haze he had Sebastian tease him with the vibrator… and return to flogging him.

Sebastian demonstrated that his sadistic streak had been finely developed by how expertly he tortured him with the vibrator and the flog, bringing him to the edge of orgasm and backing down over and over. Jim gave him a warm smile over the stripes on Mycroft’s back. Eventually Mycroft was reduced to incoherent begging, his vocabulary reduced to whimpers and pleas. It didn’t take very long to get the idea across that Mycroft didn’t get to come until he made Jim come.

Mycroft might have been inexperienced, and out of his head on his own chemicals, but he was still a quick learner: _There was some real_ _potential, there._

“Now then, Mycroft,” Jim smirked, “this shouldn’t take long…”

It didn’t.  Jim slipped a single well lubed finger into him and flexed and he came–almost knocked himself out collapsing into the floor in fact.

Jim had Sebastian insert the vibrator and strap it in place; then he turned it on: Mycroft almost screamed– of course he was hyper sensitive by now. Jim checked and adjusted the vibrator to a lower speed.

“Secure him, Sebie; leave the vibrator running, and get a cock ring on him. He’s got a long weekend ahead of him.”

“With pleasure, Sir.” Sebie looked a bit too intent.

“Sebie? You can flog him a bit more, but no playing with him– yet. Come to my room when you’ve finished.”

*

Sherlock and John were dropped off and picked up at a train station, transferred at a road side, and ended up at the same house they’d been at last time.

They were escorted in to find an older woman– _cold, sadistic streak, but cowed_ –, a professional looking younger man– _he loved her, she was fond of him_ –, Anthea, and an annoyed looking young man wearing casual clothing and a collar– _computer or technical expert, has been abused_.  The guards deferred immediately to the man wearing the collar.

The older woman looked thoughtfully at them “Sherlock Holmes?”

“Yes,” Sherlock nodded, looking around intently. _The guards were still relaxed, so whatever was going on wasn’t too bad._

“Anthea.” John said politely.

“John.” She sighed “Sorry about this.”

The professional looking man said, “I’m called Geoff. I’m basically Anthea for my Boss,” he nodded at the woman, “Bela.”

“John Watson. I was kidnapped with Anthea recently.” John said tiredly.

“Where is Mycroft? And was Jim hurt?” Sherlock said to the young man with the collar– _he had authority, whoever he was._

“Mr. Moriarty was unharmed.” The man said calmly, “Other than that? You wait.” _Apparently he was the voice on the phone line._

Anthea glanced sideways at him, “This is Lloyd Serdon. He used to be the head of the computer department for our group– Bennison was causing him issues.”

“Bennison? The asshole that got us all kidnapped?” John asked her intently. “Has anything permanent happened to him yet?”

Bela replied. “He was causing me issues as well. I am one of Mycroft Holmes colleagues… as was Lloyd.”

Sherlock looked at her thoughtfully, “You aren’t wearing a collar.”

“Don’t delude yourself, Mr. Holmes, I might as well be.”

“Bela, at least, has a good grasp on reality.” Jim said pleasantly as he came in. Lloyd immediately turned and dropped into position at his side, opposite Sebastian. Jim idly reached over and petted at him- _completely submissive to Jim, would do anything Jim asked_ – _why?_

“Luggage, Sherlock?”

“I was already packed for Tuesday.” He answered. He tried to say it calmly but he was certain Jim could hear the tension in his voice.

Jim cocked his head, “And you brought your violin. How thoughtful.”

 _Yes, I know I’m staying for however long you choose._ Sherlock tried to convince himself it wouldn’t be that bad.

Jim looked over at Geoff and Bela, “You two can go.  Mycroft should be in on Monday.” He nodded politely at Bella, but his eyes glittered, “I look forward to working with you.”

“I don’t look forward to it,” she answered, “but I’ll do it.”

They were escorted out. _If Mycroft would be in on Monday, that limited what could happen to him–and Jim looked well…Sebastian looked fairly relaxed too._

Anthea kept shooting worried looks at John, and Sherlock. Once the other two were gone, Sherlock asked, “Is Mycroft alright? I understand he behaved rather foolishly.”

“I expected him to balk, just not the extent of it.” Jim shrugged. “He has to be punished, of course.”

“More tattoos?” John asked dubiously.

“No, or at least not yet.” Jim smiled, “I had to remind him about his feelings for his brother.” Sherlock flinched.

Anthea spoke up suddenly. “John? You see it too don’t you? Something is really off.”

John nodded. “Yeah. What’s going on, Sherlock?”

Jim just smiled and looked Sherlock up and down, “Leave your luggage; I’ll have it taken to your room. Sebie? Take Anthea and John off with the usual rules.” He smirked, “You can explain what I mean to them, if you want.” He turned and walked away, followed by Lloyd and, after a moment, by Sherlock.

~

Sebastian put them in what might have been the room they were in last time, minus the medical bed.

Then he sprawled on the bed. “He’ll be alright; Jim’s letting him off easy again.” He snorted, “Dammed lucky bastard.”

“What happened to him?”

“Light flogging, enough to get him high.” Sebastian grinned, “And boy did he get high. He was out of it. Then light play and denial.  He’ll be desperate and incoherent, but nothing he won’t recover from.”

John looked dubious and pulled up a chair, “Light flogging to get him high? I don’t get it.”

Anthea sat on the edge of the bed next to Sebastian. “I can’t picture that working on Mr. Holmes.”

“Oh it WORKED.” Sebastian smirked. “He was completely out of his head.” He pulled Anthea in and nipped at her jaw, “I told you, I’m very good at it.”

“Should I just go to the room next door? Since you two apparently…” John felt intensely uncomfortable.

Sebastian sprawled back in his original position, Anthea sighed, “Sorry.”

John just looked at her, and then asked, “Okay, I don’t get it. How do you get ‘high’ from being flogged? What does it mean?”

Sebastian shrugged, “You know the ‘runner’s high’ is from endorphins kicking in, you basically get a chemical high but it’s all your own chemicals.” John nodded. “And you KNOW what the adrenalin high is like from the military…”

John tried very hard to keep a neutral look on his face, he was fairly certain he failed, “Yeah, it’s about what I get working with Sherlock.”

Sebastian sat up. “Well… damn. That’s it, isn’t it? I wondered why your relationship always looked sexual if it wasn’t.  You’re getting the kick out of the danger and the thrill.”

“Yes,” John tried to maintain some dignity, “I believe I understood that, eventually.”

“Ok, so if you flog someone too hard, you get  endorphins and adrenalin but it’s being used to keep your body working against the injury, so you can  survive….”

“I AM a doctor, you know.”

“Well, if you cause just enough pain and fear to get the endorphin and adrenalin running, but there really ISN’T any injury… or nothing  ‘survival worthy’ what happens?”

 _Endorphins and adrenaline without a real injury?_ “A combat high?”

“You send the person into a chemical haze.” Sebastian grinned. “Now combine that with sex.”

John thought about it.  He was a doctor and he’d seen what chemicals did to people…” It would start mimicking the effects of ecstasy, or maybe even heroin…”

Sebastian nodded. “Jim was right; he went under like a dream.  Of course he was already unsteady from guilt.”

“Guilt over trying to hurt Moriarty?” Anthea asked dubiously.

“No, over what he wants to do to Sherlock.”

“What?” Anthea looked shocked.

“What are you taking about?” John said slowly, he was starting to have a very bad feeling about this.

Sebastian sat up and pulled Anthea into a kiss, she twisted in his arms and bit him, but didn’t break skin. Sebastian didn’t seem to mind.

“Can we keep the PDAs to after?” John sighed.

“When we first returned Sherlock, Jim had me put him in the torture room Mycroft had Jim in.” Sebastian said calmly.

“Yes, I know, what does that–” John froze. “You HURT him?” _Sherlock had insisted they hadn’t._

“No, Doctor, we left him there awake, unrestrained, and paralyzed.  Jim wanted to see if Mycroft would work him over.”

Anthea pulled away and stared at him. “Of course not! He adores his brother!”

John started putting together facts, the changes in behavior… “Did he?” Anthea looked stunned at John.

“It was a pretty close thing.” Sebastian nodded, “he picked up the scalpel and he was thinking about it. Eventually he ran, just like with Donovan” Anthea was looking disbelieving at him. “Jim had it set up, if Sherlock didn’t walk out of there by that night, we would go back in and get him. Luckily he walked out.”

Sebastian looked at the look on John’s face. “And Sherlock knows how close it was, doesn’t he?”

John thought about it– the tension, the willingness to leave Mycroft in Jim’s hands, the fact that Sherlock watched Mycroft the way he usually watched a suspect– “Yes. Yes, I think he must.”

_It wasn’t just JIM that had broken Sherlock’s confidence, it was MYCROFT…_

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock gets a few lessons from Jim, and a few explanations

Chapter 11

Jim walked Sherlock down into a basement level, but the area they went into was furnished normally enough. Sherlock tried to stay calm and not anticipate the worst.  _Jim hasn’t hurt me… lately: not since Mycroft…_

Lloyd opened the secure locks on a room and they went in. _How did Jim break him so thoroughly and cement his loyalty so quickly? Was it quick? Had Jim suborned him before?_ Sherlock’s mind was racing, trying to gather data and create a plan: he felt himself getting too tense and forced himself to take a deep breath and just observe.

“Your rooms, obviously.” Sherlock said because they **were** obviously Jim’s rooms; to someone like Sherlock it might as well have had labels on it.  They walked through into a bedroom and he started categorizing everything. “Why so many sexually related items?”

“I like sex.” Jim answered sitting on the bed. Lloyd dropped onto a pillow next to him and Jim resumed petting his hair.

“Go ahead and look around.”

Sherlock did.  Some business items, but not much, a few books–Alice in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass prominently among them­– clothing… When Jim didn’t stop him he opened a cabinet and found himself looking perplexed at an array of items, some obviously sexual, some not.

He looked back at Jim. “Why? Why waste your time?”

“Oh… Sherlock…” Jim shook his head. “Just because you have no personal interest in the topic doesn’t mean it’s a waste of time.  Do you enjoy cooking?”

“No.”

“But you need to eat, and people enjoy food, so cooking is a useful study.”

“For ordinary people, I suppose.”

Jim sighed, “Sherlock, you need a lesson.”

Sherlock froze: from Jim that could mean anything.

“Obey me and you won’t be harmed Sherlock; the rules haven’t changed.” Sherlock nodded slowly. “Clothes, off.” Jim waved at him. “Lloyd, you too, Help Sherlock put his things away in the spare drawer.” Jim shrugged, “Gun goes in the gun safe.”

“I don’t enjoy–“

“I’m not having sex with you Sherlock, I’m teaching a lesson.” Jim rolled his eyes and started taking off his clothes. _Although perhaps I should._

Sherlock noted that he had been getting cover tattoos.” Those are rather good.”

“Aren’t they? I researched tattooists for Mycroft, before he had his temper tantrum.”

Lloyd took Jim’s clothes and hung them up.

Jim smiled at Lloyd. “Lloyd? I’m using you as a demonstration. You still get all the usual safe words, alright?”

Lloyd glanced at Sherlock and back at Jim. “You won’t let him…?”

“Unless you say it’s alright, he won’t even touch you; he’ll just watch.” Jim said reassuringly. “Either get on the bed, Sherlock, or pull up a chair.”

“If I’m not doing anything, why did I need to get undressed?” Sherlock pulled a chair over and sat down.

Jim rolled his eyes, “Clothing is part of the power dynamic in human society, Sherl… I can’t have both of us nude and you dressed.”

Sherlock blinked. “Oh.”

“This is what I mean, Sherlock, it’s important but you don’t pay attention because you believe it doesn’t matter to you.” Jim snorted at him. “Lie down, Lloyd. You’re safe, I’m here.” Jim put Lloyd’s hands into a pair of padded cuffs–rather insecure looking– and loosely hooked them to the head of the bed.

Sherlock watched as Jim started massaging Lloyd, relaxing muscles. Jim was apparently a good Masseur. “You could have handled my physical therapy yourself.” Sherlock stated.

“Probably, but I had other work to do, and that’s what experts are for.” Jim was rapidly reducing Lloyd to an utterly relaxed state.  Then he started stroking differently, and Sherlock watched the breathing patterns shift, muscles start twitching, and…

“He’s having a sexual response to that.”

“Mmm-Hmm. Just watch for right now.”

Sherlock watched as Jim got an impressive response despite not directly touching anything that would normally be sexual. Lloyd appeared to be somewhat uncomfortable with Sherlock watching and was trying not to look at him.  Jim then switched to overtly sexual contact.

Sherlock sighed and started to look away. _Sex was boring and messy._

“Sherlock? I said WATCH.” Jim’s tone brooked no argument.

“Fine.” _So I’ll watch, but it’s boring_ … then Sherlock frowned. Jim was letting his expressions show? He was letting Sherlock read him… _He looked intent.  He was watching Lloyd... micro and macro responses? He was watching Lloyd’s responses and then changing what he did…_

Sherlock became intrigued:  Jim noticed immediately and smiled at him, and then stepped up the work. Lloyd started whimpering. Jim started using his mouth as well as his hands and Lloyd lost all of his reserve.

Sherlock could only stare mesmerized as Jim... peeled… Lloyd. That was the only word for it.  He was raw, and open, and Sherlock could see what Bennison’s men had done to him by how he reacted. He watched as Jim did things and Lloyd’s submission to Jim was reinforced.  Jim was creating chemical bonds-Sherlock could practically see them- and using them to reinforce the psychology…

_It was breathtaking._

Eventually Jim let him orgasm, while he murmured psychologically critical words like “safe” and “trust me”.

 Jim unlocked Lloyd and helped him sit up, rubbing his back and speaking softly about how good he was. Jim’s eyes met Sherlock’s behind Lloyd’s back and Jim smiled _. Conquest, victory, ownership._

_Jim was using sex, and his knowledge of the body, as a conditioning tool, and it evidently worked._

He sent Lloyd off into a shower, and sat on the edge of the bed.

“Just because you don’t have any personal interest in sex, Sherlock, doesn’t mean it isn’t a VERY useful field of study.” Jim smirked. “Even YOU react to chemicals, Sherlock. The body may only be a transport but the brain is run on chemicals.  Control what chemicals get associated with what thoughts and feelings? And you OWN that.”

Sherlock nodded, slowly. “Why show me?”

“Because you’re brilliant in some ways, but your insistence that nothing is important unless it’s important TO YOU is crippling you.” Jim smiled, “Besides, you do have some similarities to Mycroft.  You like the control and manipulation; the difference is you’re afraid of it.”

“I’m not afraid of control.”

“You most certainly are. You could easily wrap John around your little finger; if you didn’t keep shoving him away.  You’re afraid of losing control, and you’re afraid of turning into Mycroft if you take control.”

Sherlock flinched.

Jim got off the bed and moved around Sherlock; there was suddenly a restriction around Sherlock’s neck– _silk, necktie, time to loss of consciousness measured in seconds if he tightens the pressure–“_ You aren’t Mycroft, Sherlock.” Jim whispered into his ear, tightening the necktie just a hair. Sherlock kept his hands locked in his lap. “Believe me, I can tell.  You’re afraid, afraid to turn into him, afraid you’re really a freak, a monster, a killer waiting to happen…” Sherlock closed his eyes and tried to control himself. “That’s why you won’t ever let anyone get close, why you push everyone away, because you’re terrified that those silly ordinary people are right…”

“Or maybe you are.” Sherlock whispered, “You said we were the same.”

“Listen carefully, Sherlock… I was lying.” A jolt went through him, he almost stopped breathing. “The best lies have truth in them: you’re far more like me than you are like Mycroft, that’s true, but I never let you see who I was, really, so how do you know if we’re alike?”

“You kill people.”

“And you’re afraid you want to.” Jim nodded and his hands flexed on the necktie. “We **are** very much alike, Sherlock, but I had already begun to realize how different we were by the end.  I told you I was disappointed– I was; we weren’t nearly as much alike as I’d allowed myself to believe.

“It was only after I got to know your brother that I understood you… nature versus nurture, my darling.  You’re so cold and so uninvolved because you feel too deeply, love too much, and dear darling Mycroft taught you that that was a weakness…”

“It is.” He gasped past the tie at his throat.  It didn’t feel tighter but he was having trouble breathing. “It’s a weakness, people hurt you…”

“Yes, yes they do, but you see, you aren’t a sadist, and you aren’t a sociopath–high functioning or otherwise– you care too much, too deeply, and you can hide that from everyone else, but not from me.”

“So you’ll use that against me?”

“Oh, honey,” his voice was soft and sad, “I’ve BEEN using that against you. You risked everything to keep your friends safe… You push them away because you’re terrified they’ll hurt you… after all, Mycroft  was your first example, and believe me he loves you and he wants to hurt you.”

“I know.”  He took as deep a breath as he could manage. “So now what?”

“We go visit your brother, and I force him to realize that he needs me.”

“What?” The necktie loosed and was pulled away, and Sherlock found himself gasping.

“I dropped him earlier by making him face the fact that he wanted to hurt you.” Jim kissed him gently behind the ear. “This time I’m going to force him to realize just how badly he needs me to keep him in check.”

“You?!”

“I can keep him from hurting you Sherlock.” Jim pulled him to his feet and then pulled his head down into a kiss. Sherlock found himself kissing him back.  It wasn’t like John; there was an edge of fear to it that made it entirely different.

“And I can teach you how to read people.”

“I already read people.” Sherlock stared down at him.

“You have a blind spot for your own emotions, your own affections, and feelings, and for sex– it cripples you, I said that. I’m going to cure you.”

“I don’t want to be like Mycroft,” he paused, “or you.”

“You’ll never be like Mycroft, darling, you don’t have the right pieces in you.” Jim tugged his hand and led him out through the rooms to the hallway– still nude, “and truthfully you won’t end up like me unless I did burn the heart out of you, and I rather gave up on that.”

Sherlock turned what he’d said over in his mind quickly.

_I am afraid of being hurt.  I am afraid of being weak.  Mycroft always said affection is a weakness and will be used against me, especially any affection that might… take my attention away from Mycroft._

_Oh._

 


	12. Chapter 12

John had retreated to the neighboring room; there was a television in there...  Unfortunately as good as the walls were, and as loud as he could turn up the sound, NOTHING kept the sound of a bed slamming into the wall out.

The first time he’d heard a distant sound of yelling, and the bang and crash of a bed, he’d reopened the connecting door, certain he was going to have to rescue Anthea…

Not expecting to see Anthea shoved up against the wall with Sebastian holding her up effortlessly as she RAKED nails down his back… and obviously not in any need of rescue.

He’d retreated to the other room immediately and turned on the telly.  _Right, when they’d met at the pub Sebastian had said he brought a med kit because Anthea bites and scratches_. He hadn’t realized how many muscles Sebastian had, no wonder he could climb down a wall carrying Mycroft over his shoulder.

John huddled down in the bed and tried to watch television and ignore the sounds coming from the other room.

*

Jim stopped in the hallway outside another door, one with more locks on it.

“Wait here for a moment, then you are going to be brought in, and you will make NO noise, am I clear?”

Sherlock nodded slowly.  Jim slipped into the room; Sherlock heard a tortured moan before the door closed.  After a short time Jim opened the door and looking straight at Sherlock sang out, “Come back in Sebie!” and let him in.

Sherlock recognized the accoutrements of a BDSM playroom, an expensive one at that, and looked curiously around, only to freeze at the sight of the naked man restrained in the center of the room.

Mycroft.

Blindfolded, his back pink with some visible stripes– _flog_ , Sherlock’s mind immediately filled in–hands locked together and attached to the floor, legs attached to a spreader bar.  He was moaning through clenched teeth.

 _Not pain– pleasure_. Sherlock realized with shock. _Or pleasure enough that it might as well be pain_.  His mind started analyzing as if this wasn’t Mycroft at all. _Loss of control, forced submission, humiliation_ …

Jim pointed to a chair and smiled at Sherlock pleasantly, “You can sit down, Sebie, I think Mycroft’s decided he wants to cooperate.”

“Jim…. Please... anything…” Mycroft gasped out.  _Mycroft? Begging?_ Sherlock sat down hard before he fainted.

~

Mycroft couldn’t think anymore beyond a desperate need to get this to stop.  Somehow he’d been drugged, he must have been, and then he’d been allowed to orgasm after he’d had someone in his mouth– he hoped it was Jim, he really wasn’t certain– and then he’d had his restraints changed and this accursed thing put on him–a cock ring, Sebastian had smugly insisted he call it–and that vibrator… and they’d LEFT him here.

He was going to go mad.

Jim finally came in. he was so glad he started begging as soon as he realized, but Jim just smiled and sang out, “Ready for your next lesson?” and put a blindfold on him.

“Please, Jim, Whatever you want, Please!”

This was a frighteningly good blindfold, not even light came in.

“In a minute, darling.” And he’d distantly heard him bring Sebastian in, tell him to sit down, he wasn’t needed.

“No, Jim, please… I’ll be good…” a wave of dizziness and agony shuddered through him and he moaned.

Jim giggled. “Well, you certainly weren’t being good when you tried to misbehave earlier.”

“Did I?” Mycroft honestly couldn’t remember.

Jim ran a hand down his back and he moaned again. “You tried to order me around, Mycroft.”

“I… I won’t…” There was a click noise and the vibration shut off. Mycroft collapsed as much as he could.

“You threw me on the ground, Mycroft, and then you shoved me on the bed, and while I can enjoy that you didn’t ASK me.”

Mycroft vaguely remembered that– that had been stupid–“I’m sorry, please let me–“

“You pulled your blade on me, Mycroft.”

“What? Oh... Oh. I did, I’m sorry–“

“You used that one on me first thing, darling.” Jim’s hand grabbed his hair and pulled his head up. “What did you think you were going to do this time?”

His entire body was shaking, the vibrator was off but it was still there, and he couldn’t… he couldn’t… “Please, Jim,”

“Did you think you were going to hurt me?” Jim’s voice got smoother and dipped a bit lower, “Keep me kneeling at your feet, reading books to you, like Sherlock?”

“No!”

The vibration started again, harder this time, more erratic. “Don’t lie to me Mycroft.”

“Yes, Yes, I wanted… I wanted you…”

“Like you wanted Sherlock?”

“No…” the vibrations got worse, “NO! I wanted Sherlock to obey me, I wanted to hurt him, but I never…” the vibrations began to get weaker, Mycroft panted.

“You never what, Mycroft?”

“I never wanted to have sex with him.”

“Hmmm.” The vibrations stopped “Just hurt him, and keep him on a leash?”

“He… he can’t take care of himself.”

Jim leaned in and spoke in his ear, “Whose fault is that, Mycroft?”

“I… I just wanted him to stay…”

“Because everyone else is so very stupid, aren’t they Mycroft love? And Sherlock might not have been your equal, but at least he wasn’t a goldfish… and he was YOURS, wasn’t he?”

“Yes.” Mycroft groaned.

“And you wanted to punish him for leaving you, didn’t you? Make pretty marks on his skin…”

Mycroft tried not to moan. He nodded as best as he could with Jim’s hand still holding his head up.

Jim leaned in very close and spoke very, very quietly, “I took him away from you, Mycroft.  He’s mine now, and the only way you’ll ever see him again is if you accept that I own you.”

“I already said you own me.” Mycroft groaned, “Please…”

In his more usual voice, Jim said, “You said it, Mycroft, but you need to mean it.  You need someone to control you and take you down when you need it. It’s time for your next lesson, darling… That you are not the one in control.  You’ve forgotten that too many times.  You don’t have any authority over me, except what I give you, and you have no authority over any of my people, unless I give it to you.  Tell me!”

“I…I have no authority over you or your people… Jim I–“

“That includes Sherlock.”

He’s my–“

There was a sharp smack across his buttocks and his aching balls screamed in protest, he was certain he did too.

Jim ran his hand soothingly over the stinging area. “Do I need to have you flogged again? This time with you already desperate?”

“No! No, please Jim–“

“That includes Sherlock, Mycroft.  I own him. He’s mine.” Jim ran a hand down his chest and Mycroft felt himself arching into it, trying to get some relief. “Say it.”

“I have no authority over Sherlock.”

“You don’t touch my things, Mycroft, without my permission. EVER.”

“Understood.” He was barely able to stay kneeling upright, if Jim had let go of his hair he was certain he would fall.

Jim started undoing the blindfold straps. “You would just hurt him, darling, you don’t have enough discipline.  You got away with too much your whole life and you think you can behave badly, but I’ll fix that.”  The blindfold fell off and he was blinking in the lights.

A tall shape moved from the chair Sebastian had been in… _Oh God, no._

~

Sherlock was in shock.  Jim had taken apart his brother’s defenses, left him nothing. Every muscle twitch, every inflection.  This was worse than Lloyd because he KNEW Mycroft.

Mycroft wanted him to stay, to be the little brother kneeling at his feet, following him in admiration–never an equal but at least company. The sadism he’d had as a child had been leashed, controlled, but never extinguished…

Sherlock realized with some sadness that Mycroft wasn’t entirely wrong: _without John, without a case, or someone else interfering, I’d go back to the drugs._ “He’d just hurt himself” indeed, but Mycroft couldn’t be trusted: what would start as getting him sobered up… would end with Sherlock being hurt and controlled. He’d always known that, to a degree, pushed against the control…

 _He’d been better, before,_ Sherlock had to admit. _Overseeing Jim’s interrogation– someone as intelligent as I am, but an approved outlet for his old interests– had likely been the last straw.  He’d been faltering for a while–he’d built the room after all– but suddenly he had a target, and he enjoyed it too much._

_And then he could justify more, and more, as ‘keeping me safe’ until it went too far._

Jim waved at him to stand up:  Sherlock did as Jim was taking off Mycroft’s blindfold. He saw Mycroft’s eyes focus. _Jim was unbearably cruel._ Sherlock hated that he felt safer now…

Jim looked at him, still holding Mycroft’s head up and back by his hair. “Sherlock, darling, I did say you’d be safe as long as you obeyed me, didn’t I?”

He didn’t trust himself to speak, he just nodded.

“Mycroft will never hurt you again, Sherlock,” Jim said gently. “You can go back to my room and get your clothes. Lloyd can show you to John if you like. I’ll be busy.” Jim waved at the door, and Sherlock fled.

~

Jim watched as the last of Mycroft’s resistance and pride–along with what Jim suspected was some of his sanity –crumbled away. He was stripped to his core, and he knew Sherlock had seen him–seen through him.

“I told you, Mycroft, the worst part isn’t being put down; it’s that someone else saw you.”

Mycroft could see it: _Jim had set himself up as Sherlock’s protector; convinced Sherlock that Jim would protect him from me…_ and Jim had made him admit the temptation to his face, as if his waking up in the room wasn’t enough.

“It wouldn’t have had to come to this, love, if you hadn’t tried to be difficult.” Jim let go of his hair and Mycroft collapsed. “You keep trying to put me in your brother’s place, Mycroft, but it won’t work…”

“I’m… not…” Mycroft tried to convince himself.

Jim stroked down his back and then slapped his hand down on the worst of the welts: Mycroft strangled back a scream and his mind whited out for a moment– he honestly couldn’t tell if it was pain or pleasure anymore.

Jim spoke softly, “You can’t lie to me, and don’t try to lie to yourself, Mycroft– it’s far too ordinary.  Have you actually tried to convince yourself that you don’t keep trying to put me in his place?  The weaker, less intelligent, dependent, follower? Still brilliant enough to be worth talking to, but in need of your… control?”

Mycroft tried his best to pull away, as far as the chains allowed. “I suppose I had…” Mycroft gasped, “You both… he harms himself, you harm others….”

Jim just smiled. “Except you, Mycroft, don’t have enough understanding of your own nature, and your own needs, to control yourself– much less someone else.  You just bottle it all up, and label it all sentiment and base chemicals and refuse to learn how to HARNESS it… Dear Brian was right.”  

Jim sat down and turned the vibrator on again, Mycroft bit back moans.

“You just need to learn that you NEED me, Mycroft– you need someone to keep you in check.”  Jim trailed the edge of the flog over Mycroft’s back: he didn’t know whether to cringe or beg for more.

“It’s funny, isn’t it? Every time you’ve struck against me, you’ve pushed Sherlock further into my grasp.  This all started as business for you, but then it turned into trying to keep me away from your darling toy….

“And now he’s more mine than yours, and you’re mine too. “ Jim turned the dial up and sat swinging his legs in the chair. Mycroft could see the scars on Jim’s feet as he tried to keep his thoughts together, but all he could focus on was Jim’s voice, and the dizzying sensations.

“You did it to yourself, Mycroft… just the way I like it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next Arc will pick up directly after this with "Soul Proprietorship".


End file.
